


If I Would....

by quietann



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Brother/Sister Incest, Deathfic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhibitionism, Explicit Language, F/M, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, No.happy.endings.here, Rape, Violence, Voyeurism, there.will.be.more
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-02 05:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietann/pseuds/quietann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the premise that there is a finite amount of awfulness between Ges Vorrutyer and Aral Vorkosigan. By the time we meet Ges in canon (Shards of Honor), it's almost all on Ges's side. Here, that's not the case.</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <em>(Please note: this is a very explicit fic by the standards of Bujold fandom, and it's not the slightest bit warm and fuzzy.)</em><br/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minutemarch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minutemarch/gifts), [(but not really. I wrote it a long time ago and minutemarch was curious...)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%28but+not+really.++I+wrote+it+a+long+time+ago+and+minutemarch+was+curious...%29).



> Additionally: LMB created this world, it's copyrighted by her, and I play in it because she's willing to ignore the existence of Bujold fanfic. Thanks to Josan and Firefly_124 for beta reading, way back when. And to my husband for putting up with it all.
> 
>   
> _Into the flood again_  
>  _Same old trip it was back then_  
>  _So I made a big mistake_  
>  _Try to see it once my way_  
>   
> 
> _Am I wrong?_  
>  _Have I run too far to get home_  
>  _Have I gone?_  
>  _And left you here alone?_  
>  _If I would, could you?_  
> 
> 
> Title/lyrics credit: "Would" by Alice in Chains, lyrics by Jerry Cantrell
> 
>  
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"It's your eyes. You are so handsome, but you have eyes like a woman's. I've been sneaking glances at your face... I just can't help myself."_
> 
> Content: Introducing Ges and Aral as friends and lovers, as students in the Imperial Service Academy. 
> 
> Warnings: Decidedly explicit opening scene; siblings bordering-on-incest; violence, language, angst.

Ges had always watched his sister, even when they were little. So pretty, so lively she was, he could watch her for hours. A few years before, he'd discovered the secret spot at the back of the large closet between their bedrooms. Pushing on a board revealed a tiny space, with a little bench to sit on, and a decorative grille facing his sister's room. It was only later that Ges realized the space had been quite deliberately designed; perhaps his ancestor, Pierre 'Le Sanguinaire' Vorrutyer, the architect of the Vorrutyer Residence in Vorbarr Sultana, shared Ges's vice. Watching her in secret had only become more interesting as they matured. 

Now he stared through the grille, as she pulled off her dress and peeled her stockings from her legs, dropped her underthings into a pile on the floor and stood nude before her full length mirror. She had the full complement of Vorrutyer features -- dark curly hair that she kept short so the little ringlets curled about her neck and her face, full of life and unrivaled in its beauty, deep dark eyes, firm breasts, and the start of voluptuous hips. She turned back and forth, admiring herself, trying out poses, and finally cupping her breasts in her hands. Ges could see her breath quicken, just as his did. As she moved to the bed, he knew he was in for a treat.

He was not disappointed. She stroked her body, sighed, and adjusted her position as a lovely flush spread across her chest. Ges found it more and more difficult to stay silent and unrevealed as she moved her fingers down her body, eventually spreading them over herself, working their rhythms into her flesh. Everything glistened, and Ges imagined he could see sparks flying off her body as she arched her back.... and then collapsed inward, curling and gasping for breath.

Ges loved watching women, loved those chances he got to see a bit of flesh revealed, a dress pushed off a shoulder or the hint of a nipple at the edge of a low-cut neckline. A woman tilting her head forward so a man could kiss the back of her neck, a couple embraced in an alcove where they thought they had privacy... Ges remembered and cherished all these things. But no one outdid his sister, had more of an effect on him -- except for Aral Vorkosigan.

Watching her, it dawned on him. He knew how he could keep Aral. And he remembered....

\---------------------------- 

It happened commonly enough in the Imperial Service Academy. Upon their admission at age seventeen, Ges and Aral had been assigned as bunkmates to a tiny private room, a small concession made to Counts' heirs such as Aral and Counts' second sons such as Ges, one of the few dividing lines in Imperial Service Academy protocol between High Vor, Low Vor, and non-Vor. The other young men typically roomed in groups of four or eight. 

Ges and Aral knew each other from the school they attended after the end of Yuri Vorbarra's Civil War, and were somewhere between acquaintances and friends. But for the trauma haunting Aral's past, they would have probably been closer. Ges was sometimes intimidated by Aral's history -- witnessing the murders of his mother, older brother, and sister at age eleven, and then two years later, at the end of what had proven to be an incredibly bloody civil war, taking the first cut out of the man who had ordered those murders, Emperor Yuri Vorbarra. But Ges was also full of sympathy for Aral. As a second son of a Count, Ges knew the pains of being the "spare" in the "heir and the spare" passion play, but the civil war had essentially opened with Aral being promoted to "heir" status, and the scuttlebutt around Vorbarr Sultana was that Aral's father General Count Piotr Vorkosigan hadn't ever thought much of his second son. 

As happens with people living in such close quarters, they learned each other's routines -- how they brushed their teeth, when they were likely to use the head and how long it would take and whether it was worth asking a little sister to smuggle in some air freshener in a care basket to use afterwards, what they liked to read in those few moments of pleasure their schedule allowed them, the sounds of their sleep, and -- because they were young men like young men everywhere -- their patterns of self-pleasure. Ges's older brother had told him that occasionally the last of these developed into covert attachments or worse; his brother had meant to share this knowledge as a warning against vice, but Ges had found it an enticement. He had therefore been disappointed to find he would be bunking with the rule-bound, honor-driven Aral Vorkosigan.

But he discovered that Aral Vorkosigan in private was not really any different from other boys. He learned when and how to witness Aral in his most intimate moments. Pretend to fall asleep, facing the other narrow bed, listen for the customary noises of blankets being pushed down, the soft strokes and the little hums. When the strokes take on a sharp, slippery sound, and the hums turn to gasps, open eyes and _watch_ , with no fear of being discovered. After the gasps become grunts, and then a "Ha!" of rushing breath, close eyes again. And, with difficulty, shelve one's own arousal to be recalled on one's next trip to the head; for all that Ges loved to observe, he loathed the idea of anyone watching him.

Aral at this point was outgrowing his adolescent stringiness. He would not be considered conventionally handsome by anyone, but had a compelling intensity about him. He had the mind of a brilliant strategist, and there were already whispers of the glory that would be coming to him in his military career. Ges, for his part, was slightly-built, more attractive yet drawing less attention. He was inclined to treat the challenges of the Academy as a series of games, nothing important. He had curly hair that did not submit well to a military cut, but he also had, he knew, the legendary Vorrutyer eyes, the gorgeous dark pools that had seduced the other Vor -- most notably the Vorkosigans -- for generations. 

It was those eyes that saved Ges's skin, the night that Aral finally caught him. For some reason, Ges had been swept into Aral's spent satisfaction, the few moments he allowed himself before cleaning up. Ges's eyes were still open when Aral turned to face him and growled lowly, "How long have you been watching?"

"Months," Ges replied bluntly. He then had the pleasure of watching Aral, who took so much pride in maintaining his emotions appropriately, drop his jaw in shock.

Ges wasn't surprised when Aral sat up and said, "Get over here, you!" There was an edge of threat in Aral's voice. Ges had expected a row between them eventually, when Aral discovered Ges's secret habit, and now felt doomed to a beating. He wouldn't be spared; Aral was the best of his classmates at hand-to-hand combat.

And then it was Ges's turn for shock when Aral, rather than thrashing him to within an inch of his life, used his skills to pin him to the bed and kiss him, drawing Ges in with the most compelling hunger, so that Ges could do nothing but moan and run his fingers through Aral's close-cropped hair when eventually the kisses moved down his body.

When it was all done, Aral asked, with a slight, shy smile, "You like?" Ges was still breathless, and could only nod _Yes_ as he basked in Aral's approval. _He never smiles,_ Ges realized. "You're a good soldier," Aral continued. His voice softened. "And a lovely one, too."

"Lovely?" Ges asked, stung at the implied femininity of the word.

"It's your eyes. You are so handsome, but you have eyes like a woman's. I've been sneaking glances at your face... I just can't help myself." Aral shrugged his shoulders, and Ges wrapped his arms around him in a tight embrace.

And so it started. In the rough, demanding world they inhabited, they leaned on each other, Ges because he wasn't sure he was up to it, and Aral because he was worried someone might think he wasn't. They agreed to keep things as quiet as possible, especially while at the Academy, because young men who bunked together and grew obviously fond of one another were often separated. But on leave, they would spend the night at each other's homes and sneak into each other's beds, go out drinking in lowlife bars in the heart of the Caravanserai, and wrestle each other into dark corners and let all their pent-up passion take over. On a couple of occasions, they even managed this secretive grappling during the Emperor's parties, in the gardens of the Imperial Residence.

The dynamic between them changed over time. Aral had started as the one with the greater hunger, but Ges developed a deep attachment to him in return. At times, it seemed to Ges that they competed over who was more in love with the other. They continued to be well-matched as Watcher and Watched; Ges encouraged Aral to learn the joys of voyeurism as a hobby, but Aral always turned him down, usually with a polite but eager reminder that he, Aral, was available to Ges as a subject, whenever and wherever they could arrange it.

 

\---------------------------- 

During their last year at the Imperial Service Academy, an unspoken tension grew between them. Aral, burdened by the historical weight of his family's military prowess, was distracted plotting his future career in the Service, while Ges clung to him with increasing desperation. 

Midway through the year, Ges's mother died in rather unseemly circumstances. The Countess was found dead in her lover's arms, down in the Vorrutyer District, and her lover was found dead with her. From what was written on the man's note, apparently he had taken an overdose of poison after his beloved expired while they were making love. Ges was granted the standard three days' leave for the death of a parent, and was pulled out of class, and within an hour of being notified, was on his way home. He left Aral a hastily scribbled note: _"My mother has died, gone to the funeral, back in 3 days."_

The manner of his mother's death mattered not a bit to Ges. She had always been a steady presence for him, and her unconventional personal life hadn't changed that at all. In addition to his private grief, Ges was pained by the social embarrassment, but he supposed that his mother had died the sort of death expected of Vorrutyers, and certainly it was a pleasant way to go. It was the sort of death Ges would like to have for himself, eventually.

It was evening when he returned to the Academy, and found Aral engaged in one of the impromptu social discussions that broke out when there was not too much studying to do. Aral raised an eyebrow and gave Ges one of his rare public smiles. Ges took the seat next to Aral, after greeting the other cadets.

After a few minutes of general chatting -- mostly about possible upcoming space-based wars, because most of the cadets in the group were about to graduate and eager to see "real" duty -- Jeroen Vorkalloner, a second-year student Ges had never liked much, turned to Ges and said, "So, Ges, back from the funeral. Too bad your mother was too busy whoring around to attend to her health."

 _How did he find out so quickly?_ Ges started to rise, his fists clenching. As a sign of disrespect, insulting a man's mother -- even with something close to the truth -- was second only to accusing a family of being overrun with mutations. Aral stood and put a firm hand on Ges's shoulder to stop him. They faced Jeroen, who was smirking at them, together. Ges felt a subtle shift in Aral's mood, something like what would happen to a man if a rude stranger insulted a man's wife. It was odd but comforting to Ges to have someone so protective of him.

"Well, Aral. You're the best man among us. What do you think, was Ges's mother a whore or not?" Jeroen's tone was mocking. It was clearly a challenge -- agree, and hope for redemption later, or disagree, and leave oneself open to insults on one's own character for how one chose one's friends. 

Aral shook his head, and pulled Ges back. "Let's go," he said. When Ges resisted, he became more forceful. "Leave it, Ges. It's more honorable to give some comments no response."

Something snapped in Ges's already strained self-control. Suddenly furious, he whirled around to face Aral. "It's all honor with you, isn't it? 'Do the honorable thing.' 'Guard your honor.' 'Your honor is your greatest possession.'" His tone was mocking and bitter as he spat out Aral's favorite aphorisms.

Most of the other cadets were backing away, not wanting to get involved in an altercation that, if it drew them in, could land them all on disciplinary charges, or worse. But Jeroen wasn't budging. "Ah, lover's spat. I guess your mother-in-law won't be around to cool you down this time, eh, Aral?"

Aral moved so quickly that the fight was over almost before it started. Ges didn't know how, but Jeroen was bloody-faced and flat on his back, mashed into the floor, with Aral on top of him and pinning Jeroen's arms in what Ges knew was an intensely painful hold. "Enough out of you, Jeroen," Aral snarled. Ges had seen Aral enraged before, and that was frightening enough, but the gray tone of Aral's face, his set lips, and the way he was shaking as he held Jeroen seemed downright murderous. And there was no doubt that Aral _could_ murder Jeroen with two or three quick moves. Instead, Aral rose, pulled Jeroen halfway up, and sent him crashing into a stack of chairs on the other side of the room. The other cadets rushed towards Jeroen, and from their sideways glances it was obvious that Aral had terrified them.

Ges followed Aral as he ran down the hall. When they got to their room, and had locked themselves in, Aral sat heavily on his bed, his head in his hands. Ges sat opposite him. "That wasn't a good idea, you know," Ges said after a few moments.

"I couldn't help it, Jeroen is an idiot," Aral said.

"But you'd just been appealing to my honor --"

"Stop." Aral looked miserable, and Ges could only imagine the mental beating he was giving himself for his hypocrisy. This was not the time for them to hash out that particular issue, so Ges let it go.

"Do you think he... knows? After that scene, he could make a lot of trouble for us with the CO's." Ges already had a lot of black marks on his record, most the result of what one frustrated officer had labeled his "imperturbable insolence." Aral, on the other hand, had an unblemished record that he was very proud of. Ges would not want to see Aral's father's reaction if Aral's first black mark was for some form of "improper fraternization."

"It doesn't matter. That was a despicable insult he offered you, and no, I don't care if it's true or not."

They sat in silence until Ges finally spoke again. "You know, Aral, Jeroen forced you to choose -- his side, or mine. I'm... grateful you chose mine, whatever the costs."

Aral winced. "This time, Ges. I can't guarantee that I'll always choose your side; the conflict is becoming more and more inevitable. I have you, on one side, and ... everything else on the other. You see my dilemma."

Ges did. And Aral would have to choose. But not yet. Ges spoke in a soft, slightly pleading voice. "For now, you have me. Can we just ... put aside the other?"

"For now, yes." Aral smiled at him, at first tentatively and then with conviction, and reached out his hands to catch Ges's. "Get over here, you." The familiar words made Ges's heart sing. He went down on one knee and bowed his head before Aral in a pose that was frankly submissive. Aral drew him in, and through their actions they forgave each other all things. _For now, yes._

The COs never said a word to either of them about the fight with Jeroen Vorkalloner, even though his injuries were severe enough to land him in the infirmary for three days. They had to know what was behind it; there were too many witnesses, and the COs had ways of getting the most reluctant cadet to cough up whatever answers they sought. Ges finally decided that they were being given some sort of pass on account of his grief over his mother's death.

\---------------------------- 

 

As graduation approached, the silent rift between Aral and Ges grew wider when they discovered that they would be separated for their first Service assignments; Aral got a plum position on one of the Emperor's new warships, while Ges would remain in Vorbarr Sultana working for Operations. To be truthful, Ges didn't want ship duty just yet, but the implicit comparison -- _"You are not worthy, but he is."_ \-- was impossible to ignore. After the commissioning ceremony, during the ball thrown by the Emperor to honor the new officers -- and to introduce them to suitable young women they might consider marrying -- it all finally fell apart.

Ges, filled with melancholy, got drunk, while Aral partook only slightly. Ges knew this was because Aral wanted to impress the older men who would judge his career as a moderate, trustworthy junior, just as Aral's father Piotr had once judged many of them. Not to mention Emperor Ezar, who watched over the crowd with a keen eye, occasionally pausing, when he took note of a particular man, to whisper something into the ear of Captain Negri, the chief of Imperial Security. Ges found himself becoming moderately paranoid over not being able to tell whether any of the glances the Emperor and Negri made in his general direction were meant to target him.

For form's sake, if nothing else, Ges had a few desultory dances with the sweet young Vor maidens. They seemed silly to him, fluttery little girls he could never imagine being intimate with, not as he and Aral were. He wished his sister had reached her eighteenth birthday, old enough to attend the Residence balls; they were close, and she was a fine dancer as well as a fine companion for the evening. 

Finally, as the party dwindled to only the serious drinkers, Ges grabbed Aral by the arm. "The gardens. Now," he hissed. "Don't even think about refusing me."

"OK, OK," Aral interrupted. "Let's walk." In the warmth of the late spring night, they took a well-remembered path towards a hidden gazebo. When they arrived, Aral's eagerness surprised Ges, and in the back of his mind, he hoped there was a chance to recover what they were losing. But just as things were reaching a critical point, when their jackets were off and just a few more shrugs and undone fastenings would have left them standing ready for one another, Aral pulled away and stepped back.

He bowed his head and spoke, obviously trying to be forceful, though his cracking voice was full of pain. "This has to end. I can't do it anymore; I have a career to build, and my father's on me to get married." And then he turned to leave.

Ges grabbed him from behind, surprising himself with a strength arising from desperation, striking so quickly that Aral was blindsided. They wrestled and tangled until finally Ges had Aral pinned, face down in the mud. "You bastard," he hissed. "I saw your lackluster response to all those girls they dangled before us up there. How can you think you'd be happy with some Vor bud your father fixed you up with? Or screwing some enlisted guy out on your precious warship? Do you think you can just make me disappear, just because it's the right thing to do?"

Aral spat out a mouthful of mud. "I have to. You think you're such a special fuck, Ges..."

Ges released him, fully expecting him to jump up, shake off the mud, and stalk off. But Aral just lay there, and it took Ges a few moments to realize that the rough breaths tearing through Aral's body were sobs. He sat back, stunned, until Aral rolled over and sat up, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and whispered. "To me, Ges, you are a special fuck, and more. If I could, I'd grab you and run with you, all the way to Beta if that's what it took." 

Ges grinned at the idea of staid, honor-bound Aral setting up housekeeping with him on degenerate Beta. And Aral drank in that grin like a man dying of thirst.

It was a special fuck indeed, that night. In the morning, Ges woke up alone in the gazebo, with his head pillowed on Aral's jacket. He realized that his hold on Aral was as strong as ever. Different than it had been, but just as precious, perhaps moreso in the patient anticipation it now required.

\---------------------------- 

 

A few weeks after Ezar's ball, Ges found his inspiration while watching his sister. _He said his father is pushing him to get married. And I have a sister, ready to be matched with the finest man..._ She would turn eighteen in two months. Their father was friendly with Aral's father, Vorrutyer-Vorkosigan matches were a long and storied tradition, and Ges couldn't think of anyone who would object. And every time Aral would make love to his new wife, he would see Ges looking back at him...

But would it be too obvious? Would Aral guess that Ges was playing the baba here, trying to maintain some connection to him, if only by using his sister as bait? Then Ges remembered Aral's desperation, that last night they had together. _Even if he figures it out, if he knows I'll be there for him, he probably won't care._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _How many times had Ges gone down on one knee before Aral, and what had usually followed? It was a well-remembered, intimate gesture, between them. But a moment later, Aral had masked himself completely, ready for his bride._
> 
> Content: Mostly about Aral's engagement to Ges's sister, and the wedding. 
> 
> Warnings: language, Ges's sister being naughty to/with him, angsty sexual frustration, a wedding-night sex scene.

\---------------------------------- 

Ges knocked lightly at the door of his father's study. A gruff "Come in!" beckoned him.

The Count was sitting in a large, comfortable chair, with his feet propped upon an ottoman. "How are you today, Sir?" Ges asked.

"Ah, my gout's up but other than that, not too bad." This was actually better than usual, Ges realized. He was lucky to catch his father in an apparently good mood. The man had seemed lost, ever since the Countess's unfortunate and unusual death. The old Count had been publicly embarrassed, of course, but not privately surprised; Ges knew that his parents had had a surprisingly liberal understanding about extramarital liaisons. But over the months since her death, his father had fallen into a deep funk, and except for tending to a bare minimum of District business, spent most of his time holed up here in his dark room in the Vorbarr Sultana residence, or in the equivalent room down in the District.

A servant brought them dinner on trays, and they alternated companionable chatting and eating, mostly about District affairs, the trials of serving on the Council of Counts (which made Ges even more happy to be a second son), and so forth. It was only at the end of their dessert that the conversation turned more personal.

"So. I've barely seen you since you graduated," the Count said. "Are you up to no good, young lout of mine?" This was said with much affection; the Count loved all his five offspring and showered them with good-humored teasing.

"So far, Ops isn't troubling me. But... I've been pondering my sister."

"I've been thinking of her much myself. She's a headstrong girl, sometimes even a bit wild. Knows the value of her beauty, and might not put it to the best uses."

These were understandable concerns, and had been since his sister was fifteen, when she was discovered half-undressed, necking with a stableboy at the District house. She had pouted for weeks when she found the stableboys replaced by stablegirls, and a much more careful watch kept on her. Bringing her up to Vorbarr Sultana after the Countess's death had seemed like a good move, until she had discovered that flirting with various young Vor men was just as much fun as the stableboys had been, and the Vor in general had the advantage of money as well.

Ges was encouraged by the direction his father seemed to be heading. "Would marriage help with that?" he asked. "Help settle her down?" Not that he expected his sister to become pious and pure once she was married -- but if she gave the right impression...

"Well, there is never any guarantee, look what happened to your mother and me, and the girl is haunting me with how much she's like the Countess. But I should like to see her married off before I'm too old to enjoy the wedding -- or before one of you is lighting the offering at my funeral, for that matter. You boys, you'll find your wives sooner or later, and have your fun in the meantime. But she ... she's my only daughter. And it's different with girls, one worries about them more in general, and she's given us more to worry about in specific. It's too expensive for a girl to have her fun, if you know what I mean."

Ges nodded in agreement with all of this, though his father's predictions of impending mortality were disturbing. But he was not here to argue with his father over when the man might expect to die. 

His father gave a deep sigh, and continued. "Your aunts are pestering me about a match for her. But there are few young men, I think, who could hold her without breaking her spirit. I love the girl too much to marry her into misery."

Ges gulped, and his heart pounded so hard he was worried his father might notice, but since when had he been handed such an opening? "Have you considered Aral Vorkosigan?" he asked. There it was, out on the table... 

"In fact, he's close to the top of the list. We Vorrutyers have been marrying Vorkosigans for generations, when we haven't been marrying Vorbarras. Aral's grandmother was one of my aunts... another aunt married Emperor Dorca. Hm. I should say that, perhaps, the Vorrutyer family has been supplying the Vorkosigans and the Vorbarras with _brides_ for generations. They do not offer much in return, for you boys, though at one point I'd hoped your elder brother would marry Aral's sister, such a nice girl she was, back before mad Yuri..." Ges's father paused and shook his head sadly. "... implemented that mad plan of his. But it's good for our family, though perhaps we ought to marry in not quite so frequently. Our girls bring a certain... spark ... but they also can bring trouble." 

The Count sighed again, and shifted his weight. "Could you bring me a dose of that medicine, the one in the brown bottle?" The bottle contained a strong painkiller, so Ges now knew what was making the old man so garrulous this evening. 

He swallowed the proferred medicine and made a face before continuing. "So tell me, son. You know Aral Vorkosigan better than anyone, having lived in his back pocket for the past three years. What sort of a man is he?"

The question shook Ges out of his complacency. This seemed to be the best opportunity to present Aral in a good light... Aral, who'd fought with him and fucked him just a few weeks before, who loved him still, he was almost sure of it. And now had disappeared into the off-planet military without a single word of farewell. _Because I am too painful for him._ But Ges's best, most private view of Aral wasn't meant to be shared with others.

He fell back on stereotypes. "Sir, Aral's honorable, he's driven, he's brilliant -- he'll surpass his father in the military, I'm sure. He drinks, but not too much, and he doesn't do stupid things. He doesn't chase women..." _And I'm not telling you why._ "He's good at settling conflicts, at getting people to work together. In school, the other cadets were drawn to him for his character, more than for his family name, as illustrious as it may be." Ges stopped. He didn't want to overdo it, and furthermore, the more he said, the worse his own pain over Aral became.

His father eyed him thoughtfully. "That's quite a recommendation. You're fond of him, it seems."

"He's... he's my best friend," Ges stammered out.

"Well, never mind that. It's your sister we're matching up here, not you."

 _Thank god Aral taught me how to keep my face straight when my secrets get thrown in my face._ It seemed that Ges's father _knew_. He hoped that his father thought, just like Aral did, that marriage was a cure for certain "bad habits" one might acquire while young. Ges was a little surprised that his father hadn't been pressuring him towards marriage -- but he was correct that girls paid a higher price for their vices, so it made sense that his sister had greater priority in his father's plans.

"I do have one concern," the Count said. "Aral's father, Piotr, seems to think not very much of him."

Ges chose his words carefully. "No disrespect meant to you, Father, but when a man comes to think of his sons as the heir and the spare, and the heir is lost, the spare might take some getting used to. And Aral and his father are not come to the end of that issue yet, I think; the older son was the light of everyone's eye." A phrase borrowed from Aral, one of the times he'd been despondent over Piotr's unbending criticism. "But Aral works diligently on his side of things, piling up achievements for his father's approval. And... it's not like Count Vorkosigan has much choice, really, because Aral's the only son he has."

"Hm. I see your point. I'd just not want the issues between father and son to spill over into your sister's marriage, is all."

"I think... Sir, it's a good match. Offhand, I can't think of a better man for her, in fact. And it sounds like you'd have approval from the distaff half of the family." This last was very important, Ges knew, because marriage arrangements were women's work. And his father, in this weakened state, couldn't be counted on to push through a match if the female relatives balked. "But given the potential unhappiness at Vorkosigan House, perhaps you could offer the young couple a few private rooms here, so there would be some separation between Aral and Piotr." _So I can keep watching..._

"Hm. Yes, your sister's bedroom has a couple rooms adjoining it that would make a nice private suite for them, and maybe even their first child or two. And if they were to have a daughter... well, Crown Prince Serg will need a wife someday. So I should engage the services of a Baba?"

 _Just make sure the Baba reveals that distant plan to Count Piotr._ "Absolutely, Sir."

\---------------------------------- 

Ges had purchased his sister and Aral a set of very expensive, fine, soft sheets; he added it to the growing pile of gifts for the engagement party, which also served as Ges's sister's birthday party. It was only the second time Ges and Aral had seen each other since the Emperor's ball, and Ges felt smug when he saw Aral's occasional anguished glances in his direction. But it was not like Ges was unaffected; he occasionally had to fight back memories of their time together, and just barely managed to stay focused on the party. Aral and his sister were a bit awkward with each other, as would be expected in any arranged match between two young people who had been acquainted, but probably never anticipated that their elders would arrange for them to marry. No one but Ges and Aral, and possibly Count Vorrutyer, knew that the awkwardness was potentiated by the tie between the brothers-in-law to be.

The successful negtiations between the two Houses had brought Count Vorrutyer out of his funk. In this room, a large parlor, a crowd of relatives and friends gathered. Count Piotr Vorkosigan sat together with his Vorrutyer counterpart and sipped at the excellent wine, provided for the party by his house. More was promised for the wedding. Ges's sister's giggling girlfriends brought each gift to her and Aral to unwrap, while Count Vorrutyer's secretary made a list of each gift and its giver for the expected thank-you notes. Ges's sister had complained to the man in advance of this daunting task, until he reminded her that she would be on her way to being a Countess, and what good would a petulant, ungrateful Countess be? "Aral Vorkosigan deserves better," he'd said, and that settled things. Ges supposed that his sister, in her own strange way, intended to be a devoted wife.

The party was marred only once, luckily late in the evening, when the guests had had enough Vorkosigan wine that they could laugh it off. Aral's cousin Padma and Ges's two younger brothers Yves and Patrice, all decidedly wending their way through the goofy stages of boyhood, decided to set off firecrackers under the chairs occupied by the stodgiest guests at the event -- though some underdeveloped sense of self-preservation kept them away from targeting either Count Vorrutyer or Count Vorkosigan. Their prank caused the elderly Countess Vorhalas to faint, luckily not deadaway. The boys scampered out of the room with a trail of Armsmen chasing after them. The Countess recovered, but not so quickly as to miss getting fussed over, and the party went on.

Towards the end of the ceremonies, Ges's sister finally reached his gift. "Oh, Ges, what a marvelous present!" his sister cried out, as she shook out one of the sheets and rubbed it across her face. She turned to Aral and held the sheet out to him. "Feel how soft that is!" Aral took the sheet and touched it to his face, and nodded stiffly. "Only three months and we'll be able to use them, too!" This made Aral blush furiously.

His sister reached for Ges's face and covered it with kisses, as she'd done when she was younger. Ges ought to have found this arousing -- he certainly had at one point, and that had been when he'd stepped away from her a bit, preferring only to watch her in secret. And it had been after that that she had turned to the stableboys. Ges still struggled with the decision he'd made. If he'd gone on permitting her affections, well, no one would have discovered her half-naked and flirting with him.

Suddenly his sister threw the sheet so it hung between her shoulders and his, forming a shade between them and the other guests. She leaned forward slightly, giving him a full view of her cleavage. In the background, Ges heard his father chuckle as one of his aunts said, "Don't you remember how they used to play 'tent city' with old sheets when they were little?" as his sister gave Ges a smile that communicated one thing: _I know you've been watching me._ And this smile did arouse him, as it was clearly meant to. But then his sister simply pulled the sheet away from them and handed it off to a servant, and moved on to the next present as if nothing had happened.

He thought about his birthday gift for her, carefully wrapped and waiting for her on her vanity, with a little card labeled _Personal_ to warn others away. It was not suitable for public viewing -- a package containing a few toys and potions, and a little book of instructions for their use, purchased from an exclusive and well-hidden local boutique. Some of the items were quite deliberately selected as Aral's known favorites. Ges now had no doubt that his sister would know exactly how to use this gift, both for herself and for Aral. If he had his brand of depravity, he thought, she more than matched it with her own.

\---------------------------------- 

Several days later, Ges joined Aral at an exclusive restaurant, one of the few of its kind that was well off the usual Vorish circuit. There had been a last-minute crisis at Ops, and traffic from there to the restaurant had been horrible because of an accident on the Star Bridge. When Ges arrived, he was further surprised to be escorted to a private room. Aral looked up and commented, mildly, "You're late." He must have seen Ges wince, because he stood and clapped Ges's shoulder, chuckling, "It's OK. If this wedding has you in half the panic it has me, you've earned an excused tardy."

Once the waiter took their drink order and left, Aral stood and pulled Ges into a hard embrace. No kisses, but everything in the gesture conveyed the same wants. Ges found himself matching Aral in his own way, or perhaps surpassing it, by slipping his hands down Aral's back and pulling Aral's hips towards his. By Aral's raised eyebrows, followed by a tender sigh, Ges knew he'd conveyed his own message in return. 

After a long interval during which they stood completely still, arms wrapped around each other and seemingly poised on the edge of action, they sat again. Ges wanted the mystery solved. _Is he breaking things off with my sister? Is he not breaking things off with her but finding a way to have us both? Is he going to tell me to make up some reason to miss the wedding, so I won't distract him?_ Aral tented his hands and watched silently, until Ges ran out of patience. "So what's this all about, and how the hell can you afford this on an Ensign's pay?"

"It has to do with the wedding; my father's picking up the check." There was something in Aral's tone that said _don't press me on this._

Aral remained evasive, saying little more throughout dinner; they chatted companionably about their respective Ensignly duties. When dessert arrived at last, Aral asked the waiter to leave them be for a while. Ges was in the middle of a bite of cream cake when Aral spoke again. "I would like you to be my Second at the wedding."

Ges spluttered, spraying bits of pastry and cream over the table. Aral gave him a saturnine look as Ges expressed further astonishment. "What? You want me to... what? It's ... obscene. Twisted."

"Some would say that about the fact that you've sent me your sister in the first place, after all that you and I had with each other..."

_OK. He knows I'm the baba. But what does he want, really?_

"But I would disagree," Aral continued. "I think it would be a highly symbolic gesture, though the symbolism is known only to us. A very final way of severing the ... less acceptable things between us."

 _I'll let you believe that. But we are not done with one another, not anywhere close._ Ges still found it easy to go along with Aral's request. 

 

After the dinner, Ges went to visit his sister in her rooms, just to give her the news and say goodnight. She was in her dressing gown, though her hair was still done up from her evening out, bent over her writing desk with a stack of flimsies. A maid, the new one sent from Vorkosigan House, sat nearby, as did the Count's secretary. Ges scanned the room and was relieved that his private gift to her was missing from her vanity; he hadn't really considered the fact that a young woman of his sister's social stature would forever be surrounded by maids and older ladies playing the duenna, especially now that she was engaged to the _Emperor's grand-nephew._

"Shit!" she exclaimed, as her pen wobbled on the flimsy and snapped. "I hate this!" Ges grinned at her as she realized that he was there, and that he'd heard her swearing. 

"Thank you notes?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied petulantly. The secretary raised an eyebrow at her, and she made a concilatory gesture to him, before announcing, "Haverman, Miss Elisa, maybe this is a good time to take a break; I'd like to speak privately with my brother." 

After they'd left, his sister turned the key in the lock. "There, we'll be undisturbed for a bit. I'm so happy you're here!"

"Well, then, I have good news for you. Aral has asked me to be his Second at the wedding."

"Maybe he wants to thank you for picking him a good wife," his sister said. But perhaps she caught a little of his uneasiness, as she asked, "You did say yes, I hope?"

"Oh, of course. You are two of my favorite people. Anything I can do for you..."

"Ges, even leaving those naughty presents for me?"-- she giggled -- "I don't understand why you think we'll need them." 

"Aral's going to be a very loyal husband, I can tell you. And he'll expect you to be a loyal wife. So, you'll want a little variety, don't you think? A nice massage with some good oil, a tickle with a feather..."

"Oh, you're wicked!" she exclaimed. "But won't he be suspicious of me, just for knowing about those things?"

"If he is, you can just tell him one of your lady friends suggested it. Preferably someone with a few more years as a married woman, maybe Lady Vorpinski?" This was one of his sister's best friends, a lively young woman whose husband, in male company, had professed her to be astonishingly creative in bed.

"Oh, you're right! Clara would talk to me about it... in fact she already has!" Ges's sister blushed, with a sort of pretend vulnerability. Ges thought, for a moment, of how the social codes of the Vor, so publicly conservative and upstanding, were held together with a web of private gossip. 

His sister reached out and caught his hands. He was distracted from thinking about her reputation further when she bent to pass her lips and the tip of her tongue across his knuckles, leaving just the tiniest glistening spots. She let go, looked up at him wistfully and said, "Ges, darling, you know I'll be married to your friend soon. But before then..." She lifted her chin towards the corner of the room, towards the grate he'd watched her through so many times. 

"I'll be a virgin on my wedding night," she said firmly. "But I thought maybe, before it's too late, you'd like a taste..." With a little shrug, the dressing gown slipped off her shoulders and into a silken puddle around her feet. The illumination of the room lit her with a fiery glow.

Ges stared. He couldn't do anything else, with that much beauty less than an arm's length away. She was naked, luscious, with a little red flush spreading across her chest and her eyes sparkling. She reached for his hands again, and pulled him in close. He drew in towards her warmth, and as she tipped her face up for a kiss, he seemed to split, with some part of him outside his body, watching himself lock his lips onto hers...

That part watched her hand slip down between their hips, listened to his own gasp and moan as her fingers pressed into his groin, watched the ache of his desire grow, and his hand rise to cup her breast.

And then he could not breathe. He could not get any air, and the pressure on his chest was like drowning. As he stumbled back towards the closet, his every nerve was on fire, yet he was sure he was dying.

"Ges, I only thought you'd want me..." The watching part vanished as he slammed the closet door against the rest of what his sister was saying, leaving only terror. He passed through the next door into his own, darkened room, and collapsed onto his bed, gasping...

Finally, when he felt nearly strong enough, he shook himself and sat up. His heart was pounding out a rhythm: _They. Both. Want. You. They both want you. Theybothwantyou..._ The panic came back, this time with waves of nausea. He put his head down to his knees and let it pass.

He recalled Aral's words. How the wedding would "sever the less acceptable things between us. _"You want less acceptable, Aral, I could show it to you..._ And decided that he could never tell Aral what had just happened, never bring him into it. And for all that the two people he loved most so clearly returned his love, he had never felt so alone.

\---------------------------------- 

The wedding was gaudy and elaborate, as was appropriate for the offspring of two highly-placed families. Vorrutyer House was cleaned and decorated, the servants supplemented with a selection of ImpSec guards going undercover in the same smart uniforms as the other staff. Over three hundred guests were in attendance; though Emperor Ezar had sent his regrets on account of some recently-discovered plots against his life, Prince Xav, his half-brother and right-hand man, was there, representing the Imperium, along with his Betan wife. Of course they would have been there regardless, as Aral's grandparents. Ges wondered, idly, if Aral missed his mother more than he and his sister missed their own. Probably. Losing one's mother in a bloody, politically-motivated tragedy would inspire such feelings more than having one's mother found dead in her lover's arms.

Before the ceremony, Ges's sister approached him, reached up, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Her gown was blush-pink, fitted to the waist and laced down the front, and daringly low-cut enough that he could only imagine the arguments that must have preceded its purchase. "How do I look?" she asked him, with a grin. She knew what he'd seen as she had stretched up to him.

"Absolutely edible. Your new husband has much to look forward to." He'd found that it was easy to slip back into light flirtation with her, as if she had never offered herself up to him. And she had not pursued that idea any further. _Nonetheless, you know that I know that you know..._ "Now, I need to see to Aral. And the next time we speak, you'll be his wife." Ges smiled and kissed her cheeks, and headed for the groom's chamber.

Aral was withdrawn and solemn as they readied themselves for the wedding, only occasionally laughing at Ges's light commentary. His reserve cracked, only a little, when he asked Ges to take a knife with a jeweled handle from the sideboard, a gift from his father, and tuck it into Aral's boot. It was just before they faced the crowd, in the last moment they had alone with each other. When the knife was placed, Ges did not stand up immediately; instead, he looked up, and quietly asked Aral, "Is this what you want?" 

The look on Aral's face said everything Ges needed to know. How many times had Ges gone down on one knee before Aral, and what had usually followed? It was a well-remembered, intimate gesture, between them. But a moment later, Aral had masked himself completely, ready for his bride.

After the ceremony, there was the customary feast, with drinking throughout and dancing afterwards, but none of these much interested Ges. He was in an odd mood, vaguely aware that something angry whined at the back of his brain.

Late in the evening, after far too much alcohol, Ges snapped. He found Aral and sidled up him. "Don't drink too much, now. My sister is so looking forward to this night, her first time with a man. We both know what goes first when you get potted. You don't want to disappoint her, do you?" 

Aral reddened, set down his wineglass, and stalked away without saying a word. Ges knew his remark had been nasty, but not nearly as bad as what Ges really wanted to say -- or do, as any hope he had that Aral would keep him, with or without the marriage, seemed to fade. 

Midnight, by tradition, was the designated time for the newlyweds to depart for their bedchamber. Everyone watched as Aral swept his bride off her feet and they ascended the stairs out of the ballroom, and the low hum among the guests signaled sexual anticipation as much as anything. As Ges raced up a side staircase towards his room, he realized that he would get to watch what some likely none-too-small proportion of those guests wished they could. There were parts of Barrayar where the guests all would have waited just outside the bridal chamber, listening intently and cheering when they knew the deed was done. In urban, modern Vorbarr Sultana, the custom had gone underground, but much Barrayaran pornography centered around the deflowering of the virgin bride on her wedding night. And a city man could still purchase the priveledge of taking the virginity of a lower-class girl, if he had enough money and knew where to ask.

Ges arrived well ahead of Aral and his bride, and got settled in his little chamber. As he waited, he pondered the situation. It struck him, in contrast with his attitudes toward Aral, that for all that he enjoyed watching his sister, that he could never do anything with her. He supposed that his panicked response to her advances proved that there was an incest taboo, after all.

The happy couple arrived at last, and his sister laughed at Aral as he carried her to the bed and laid her down on her back. He was murmuring to her, burying his face in her chest, clearly eager. And she reached up to him just as eagerly, unbuttoned his jacket, and helped him strip off his tunic. Then she pushed him up and motioned him to stand at the side of the bed, and she swung herself around so her dress bunched across her thighs and, legs wrapped around his knees, she sat before Aral to undo the buttons on his trousers -- with her teeth. It was an exact move Ges had used previously -- and he no longer cared to know where she'd learned it -- minus the dress of course, but Aral didn't react with the ardor Ges would have expected. Rather, he stepped back from her, and looked away. Haunted, if Ges knew Aral's expressions well enough. 

A moment later, his sister gasped as Aral drew the jeweled knife from his boot and pushed her back down on the bed. Ges had a terrible time staying silent, as all the color drained out of his sister's face and she trembled with fear. But Ges's slight relaxation matched hers when he saw that Aral was only using the knife to carefully cut the lacing on his sister's dress, and then to rip through the layers of underslips until her body was completely revealed. When Aral was done, he pulled the slips away and tossed the knife aside, and she took a few deep shuddering breaths as he removed the rest of his clothing.

It seemed almost sickening to Ges, that his sister would lose her virginity laid out upon her wedding dress. And that knife surely had some sort of deeper symbolism. But she recovered her courage as Aral fell upon her once again. At the point of consummation, she turned her head towards the grille on the wall and smiled, a secret smile clearly meant for Ges. _She knows._

Then her smile became a grimace of pain, and Ges had to turn away, his eyes tightly closed. For the first time in his life, he could not watch. It just hurt too much... not to watch his sister, but to watch Aral. He put his hands over his ears and tried to shut everything happening in the next room out of his brain. A lump formed in his throat, and it took all his will to keep from breaking into sobs. So Aral still held him, just as he still held Aral. And his sister held him too, in a way. After a long while, he opened his eyes and saw the newlyweds curled up and dozing together on the bed. It was over.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _In the process of making this drawing, Ges and Aral had locked their eyes on each other. His sister had vanished out of Ges's mind, as he watched Aral chew his lip slightly and return his gaze._
> 
> Content: the gradual disintegration of Aral's marriage. 
> 
> Warnings: Ges's sister being naughty to/with him and everyone else, lots of angsty sexual frustration, exhibitionism, a threesome, hints of rape.

The following year was an odd one for Ges. He worked diligently in Ops, earning a few commendations but no hints that ship duty would accompany his next promotion. His duties were usually not too interesting, mostly keeping men, supplies, and weapons moving to where they needed to be. But Ges grew to appreciate the complexity of military operations. As he looked at who served with him, especially the other young men who, like himself, had barely slipped through the Imperial Service Academy, he appreciated that Ops existed in part to give them a chance to redeem themselves in the eyes of the military. And the older men, the veterans usually sent to Ops for a spell of light duty after being injured, had many good tales to tell over lunch. There was a certain camaraderie among all these assorted, not-quite-good-enough characters. 

Ges also took more than a little pride in one task assigned to him by Major Olrent, an older man who seemed to take a special interest in his service. Olrent had put Ges in charge of arranging military honor guards for the funerals of veterans, when there weren't enough local men to make up the traditional twenty that were required. These days, the dead were usually veterans of the Cetagandan Wars that had ushered in Barrayar's reconnection to the rest of the universe. Something about making sure that those who had served Barrayar so forthrightly got full ceremonies when they died touched Ges. He often wondered how long would it be until no one would remain who remembered the Time of Isolation that had come before. 

He became more reclusive, rarely going out drinking with his fellow officers, turning down more invitations than he accepted, especially not the endless string of events designed to allow young men and women to meet, before taking their preferences home to discuss with their parents. He would, of course, escort his sister if she asked him to, because Aral was away on mission far more than he was in town. Count Vorrutyer retreated to the District in failing health, though he was rumored to be courting a local widow, a third cousin who shared the Vorrutyer surname, but none of its wealth. 

Ges still went out to watch, though. He had his usual haunts, the out of the way corners people found to conduct their romantic affairs. He watched the same women at parties, he noticed the Vor buds in the street, innocently giggling over the young men who caught their fancies. He even discovered which parks to visit, and when, to observe men who were strangers to one another meeting up for quick, anonymous encounters. And if all else failed, there was an endless series of establishments in the Caravanserai where he could, for a small fee, see a more deliberate and blatant show. He felt like he knew the real Vorbarr Sultana, the city beneath all the puritanical pretense.

But he did not watch his sister anymore. After she'd revealed that she knew he was watching her, he'd become somewhat less interested in her, but not enough to actually turn away. Even her astounding proposition had not stopped him. Only after her wedding night with Aral did Ges stop watching her completely. Even when she was alone -- which she was, most of the time -- watching her just reminded him too much of Aral. The few times he'd tried, he'd found himself impotent, during and after. 

He took to going for long walks late at night when he couldn't sleep. Or sitting on the bench in Vorrutyer House's walled garden, brooding, wondering where Aral was, what he was doing, when he'd return. When Aral was in town, Ges dined with him and his sister, but there was unspoken strain beneath their light banter. If his sister guessed anything, she kept quiet about it.

On one of his night walks, when he returned and let himself into the garden, he found that the bench was occupied. The light was on in his sister's room, which had the only big window in the otherwise fortress-like Vorrutyer Residence. Ges could only imagine how precious the window's glass had been, back in the Time of Isolation. As he gazed up, Ges had a sudden insight -- that perhaps old Pierre Le Sanguinaire had a reason for starting the tradition of reserving that bedroom for the most beautiful young lady of the house. His ancestor seemed to have designed the house meticulously, and even the garden itself was a reflection of this; it was on the side of the house closest to the caravanserai, to serve as a buffer between the rabble and the Vorrutyer family. Ges shrunk back, curious about who the young man on the bench might be, especially since the fellow also stared up towards the window with a look of expectation.

And so he discovered that his sister's explorations of exhibitionism had taken a new turn. She was at the window, first fully clothed, then turning away, giving a gentle shrug, and letting the top of her dress slide off. Her moves were the same Ges remembered watching from his bolthole in their closet. The difference now was that once she was fully nude, she didn't move away to the bed, away from the audience she must have known she had. Rather, she leaned her head against the glass, curled in at the waist, and let one hand slide down between her legs as she pulled at her nipples with the other. Her expression softened and tensed, softened and tensed, until finally she shuddered against the window. 

For the first time since her marriage, Ges was deeply aroused, but more from watching the fellow on the bench, who'd undone his trousers and was stroking himself covertly. It was now obvious that his sister had given the man a key to let himself into the garden. Ges coughed softly, and the man whipped around, while simultaneously trying to rebutton his pants. Before the man could flee, Ges caught his eye. "It's OK," he said. "You like my sister, so?"

"I didn't mean her any dishonor... nor you, nor her husband," the man stammered. Now Ges recognized him as Jonas Vorwyn, a young lord from a lesser branch of an illustrious family, a shiftless, romantic "man about town" who was gaining quite a reputation with the ladies. Indeed, Ges had seen his sister chatting familiarly with him at various parties.

By High Vor standards, it was now Ges's solemn duty to tear Lord Vorwyn to pieces, but he felt strangely disinclined to do so. Rather, he maneuvered himself to block the way to the garden gate, Lord Vorwyn's easiest escape route, and asked, "Is this all you want from her?"

"No... no. If I could have more of her..."

"You might be able to. Her husband is away more often than not, and she's lonely and often bored." Ges had recently found her softly weeping, and she'd poured out her frustrations to him, in far more detail than a sister normally would have confided to a brother. But _normal_ was the last word to apply to her, or to Ges, or to their relationship, for that matter. "And she is a very... highly sexed young woman, as I am sure you are aware. It's a pity to see her so neglected."

"I couldn't. I mean, she is married to Aral Vorkosigan," Lord Vorwyn said in astonishment. "That's like two steps away from being married to the Emperor."

"I know Aral... very well," Ges replied. "I was his Second at their wedding, we were bunkmates in the Imperial Service Academy. He is a good man, brave, honorable, bound for glory. But his weakness -- every man has one -- is that in his personal affairs, he refuses to see what he does not want to see. It is a weakness that could work to your advantage." Lord Vorwyn raised his eyebrows, as it finally hit him just what Ges was saying. "Look, at least let me talk with her, and get back to you. I won't mention you by name, just find out if she might have time for a man with more... availability."

Lord Vorwyn still looked reluctant, but Ges knew that he was weak and easily influenced, with the image of such a beautiful, desiring woman fresh in his mind. So Ges pressed him further. "Let me. It would be as much a favor to her as to you." Finally, he won the man's permission.

\--------------------------------------- 

A few days later, his sister invited Ges up to her sitting room "for a private chat." They sat in two padded chairs, from which they could see into the bedroom. "You're using the sheets I gave you," Ges observed mildly.

"Well, it seems silly to save them for Aral when he's barely here to appreciate them."

"Yes," said Ges with more than a little sympathy, given how much he missed Aral, too. "There are several... situations off-planet, any one of which could become a full-blown war with very little notice. I don't think he'll be home much at all for a while."

"I want him back." His sister's voice was plaintive. "I know you wanted us to marry, but you were such good friends, surely you knew this would happen, that he would be away most of the time."

"I wanted you to marry because I thought you'd be good together. Do you remember him visiting us when I was at boarding school?"

"Yes. He seemed.... sad, and so uncomfortable. I suppose it was hard for him to be around a regular family, since he'd lost all of his own except his father."

"It was just a few years after the war. He doesn't say much about it, but what he does say would give anyone nightmares. I came to know Aral... much better after we started at the Imperial Service Academy. And you, I've known you since you were a tiny baby," he said fondly, remembering the day when he'd first been allowed to meet his new sibling. Even then she had been beautiful. "I'm sorry you are so unhappy, but what can I do to make things better? Ship duty doesn't last forever; Aral has such a good mind for strategy that sooner or later they'll pin him to a desk here in Vorbarr Sultana as a military advisor."

His sister was silent, but the look on her face nearly broke Ges's heart. Whatever his intentions, whatever his hopes for Aral's company, he'd also hoped that the couple would be happy. He was struck with a deep sense of melancholy.

Then she lowered her head for a moment, as if to weep. When she looked at Ges again, she spoke directly. "I've decided to have an affair."

Now this was a surprise -- a convenient one, for Ges. He'd had no idea if his sister would be open to the idea; even with her... sexual habits... she had to have a sense of shame somewhere. And if she was willing to have an affair, maybe she wouldn't mind if Aral had one too? _But it's not like she needs a boyfriend to have her fun,_ he thought, recalling the glorious performance he and Jonas Vorwyn had witnessed. _Just an admirer._

Ges decided to get right to the point. "Tell me, with young Lord Vorwyn?" 

"How did you guess?" She sounded genuinely taken aback.

"I've seen you talking with him at parties. And he's certainly a handsome enough fellow. And... we met, a few nights ago, in the garden." He tilted his head towards the big window in her bedroom. " _Someone_ must have given him the key," Ges teased.

His sister blushed furiously. "You saw... everything?"

"Yes. It wasn't such a surprise, I know you're a naughty girl sometimes." The little bit of flirtation relaxed her, perhaps letting her know that she would not be judged by him.

"He's not the only one, you know."

"Two men! Two affairs! Goodness. I'd say you need to get the both of them into your bed before the locksmith gets curious about how many garden keys you're handing out!"

"So you're giving me your blessing?"

"Of course, dear one. Unlike your pious husband, you are of the correct gender to have affairs with men." It had just slipped out, and it immediately felt like a betrayal. Ges did not want to get into this territory with his sister, not yet. He'd always thought that when the time came, he'd present his "sharing" proposal to Aral first, and only say anything to his sister if Aral seemed willing.

"I didn't know anything about that!" his sister said angrily. "Did you... how could you...."

With some difficulty, Ges recovered his nerve. "Oh, I think it was just a schoolboy's passing fancy. You know, locking up all us young men in military school, with no women at all, does strange things to our morals, but marriage usually cures us. It's just that with Aral... I don't know. It's not much different on space duty, lots of tension, no women, and the command structure is willing to look the other way, as long as a man is discreet." _There. A good deflection. And maybe it will help her justify her own actions..._

Whatever outrage his sister felt, it seemed, only fueled her own desires. It took her no time at all to bring her new lovers inside, so to speak. The second man turned out to be the somewhat older Andros Vortorren, an unmarried high government minister who nonetheless found time for an active social life. He lacked Jonas Vorwyn's physical attractiveness, but certainly outdid the younger man in personality and wits. And he'd had years of experience with married Vor women, and knew how to fade into the background when a husband wanted to keep his wife to himself.

\--------------------------------------- 

Ges started to watch his sister again, when she had her men friends over. Watching her with a man other than Aral was extremely arousing to Ges. Yes, there was a bit of pleasure taken in the revenge against Aral that the affairs wrought, but Ges watched mostly because his sister enjoyed herself so much, and in so many ways.

One evening, they attended a party at which both of his sister's lovers were present. They were well aware of one another, and oddly non-competitive for her attentions. Andros Vortorren, certainly, had enough other interesting women in his life to be able to work around Jonas Vorwyn's schedule. And that young man seemed so overwhelmed just by the fact that Ges's sister had taken him on that he was desperate to please her. He was a bit dim, but he knew well enough that she would not tolerate jealousy.

Ges wandered through the party talking with people he knew and admiring the gowns the ladies had adopted as the latest fashion. It seemed that his sister had been very forward-thinking with her revealing wedding dress, because similar necklines were now popular all over Vorbarr Sultana. A woman leaning forward to bring her companion in close for a private word could reel him in with a rather lovely view. Ges got more than a few glimpses just by knowing who to chat up and knowing what sort of gossip would bring his target up close. But there was no girl like his sister; not only was her profile luscious, but she knew better than most how to work with her dress for maximum effect -- and rather than giggling and blushing like an innocent, as if she really had no idea what she was doing, she genuinely enjoyed knowing the exact effect she had on her companions. In other words, she was not an amateur, and did not pretend to be one. 

Mid-evening, he headed over towards the chaise where his sister was chatting with her lovers. He was ready to leave, and he figured that a few simple words would let his sister know that she should pick tonight's favored one quickly. As he approached the trio from behind, she said, rather emphatically, "But I don't think I should have to choose between you tonight."

Whatever was she about, and why did Andros Vortorren lick his lips in response? Ges shrank back into a darker spot, where he could overhear whatever negotiations were happening. 

"Milady, you should not have to choose, I agree," Vortorren said.

Jonas Vorwyn, not surprisingly, looked extremely confused. "Now, Vortorren, there's really only room for one of us." His tone was friendly but challenging.

Andros Vortorren parried this nicely. "You think so? You really do? Our lady might disagree."

"Oh, I think I do!" she exclaimed, as she did something with her shoulders that made both men raise their eyebrows. 

Ges and Jonas Vorwyn probably twigged to what was being proposed at exactly the same moment. It was only from being so experienced at watching that Ges was able to keep silent as he observed the young man boggle. "I ... think I start to see." Jonas Vorwyn's tone changed from reluctant to eager in just those few words.

"Well, it is a delicate bit of balancing we'll have, then. I think you both could use some instruction this evening." Vortorren's voice was positively silken in its persuasion.

"We should find Ges to summon the groundcar," his sister said urgently, as she put a small hand on each man's thigh and worked her fingers upward. 

As they rose, Ges gave a soft cough and stepped forward. Something in his expression must have conveyed to his sister that he'd overheard their previous negotiations, because she gave him a rather knowing grin before she spoke. "Ges, my dear, could you get the groundcar for us? We three will be retiring to Vorruyter House presently, to have a ... private discussion." The tone of invitation in her voice was unmistakable.

And so it was that Ges got to watch his sister with both her lovers at once. Andros Vortorren did, in fact, take the upper hand, and coached Jonas Vorwyn and Ges's sister into a variety of activities. He stood back and watched the younger couple, only occasionally leaning in to lend his fingers or his lips to their efforts -- until a certain point, when he quickly stripped and joined them. Ges saw that his sister was up to the challenge of two men, though it was all distracting enough for her that she wasn't able to slip Ges, behind the grille where she knew he was, as many smiles as she normally would have. But to Ges, it didn't matter, because she was so clearly and finally overwhelmed by their attentions.

\--------------------------------------- 

As Ges had predicted, Barrayar's precarious military and political situation kept Aral away from Vorbarr Sultana. This meant that the first anniversary of his marriage to Ges's sister went uncelebrated, leaving the young woman in tears, inconsolable by her lovers or even by Ges himself. When Aral was next in town, for Winterfair two months later, there was an unmistakable chill between them, even though Aral tried mightily to make it up to her. Things finally reached a breaking point over dinner one evening, when just as dessert was being served, Aral told his wife that in a few days, he'd be departing on mission once again.

Ges had tried to counsel his sister in patience, but she pointedly inquired of Aral, "So how long will you be gone this time, a month? Two, six? Will our next anniversary come and go just like this one did?" 

"How many times do I have to say I can't tell you? Even if I knew, I couldn't tell you. It's all State's secrets at this point," Aral snapped in return.

"So what do you expect of me? Shall I start looking for a boyfriend to keep me warm this winter?" Ges winced at his sister's snide tone. _He'll guess, dear one, if you keep going with this._ Aral looked ready to explode, and Ges knew they were getting into dangerous territory. Given his -- very different -- contributions to their respective unhappiness, he didn't want to be in the middle of the detonation.

Ges cleared his throat and got up from the table. "Excuse me, I think maybe you should discuss this without me." He had one more look at his sister before he left the room, and saw that her rage was directed at him as much as at Aral. He felt terrible for abandoning her, but if he stayed he doubted he could keep each of their secrets from the other any longer.

As he ran down the hall, he heard Aral saying, "You wouldn't think of dishonoring me like that." Ges was suddenly filled with pain, reflecting the pain he heard in Aral's voice. He didn't want to hear this row, but he didn't think he should be far away. One or both of these unhappy souls was likely to turn to him at the end of it. He took a chair in an alcove some ways down the hall, and waited.

It was Aral who found him first, a few minutes later. His shoulders slumped, and he looked utterly shattered. Ges stood up and blocked his way. "Where are you going?"

"To my father. I need his advice for this; I never could have imagined how terrible she feels." Aral ducked his head a little bit and continued in a much softer voice, "Or how I feel. Blighted. Like Vorkosigan Vashnoi, all aglitter, so wonderful, but when one gets too close, just poison." And then, much to Ges's shock, Aral fell into his arms, sobbing. It sent Ges's memories back to the last time they'd been together, in the Emperor's gardens, when Aral had sobbed just like this, and then called him 'a special fuck' and shown him exactly how special. He wondered, idly, if Aral was so vulnerable this time around.

When Aral recovered enough composure to speak, he said, "Come with me, Ges."

They were silent all the way to Vorkosigan House. Aral parked the lightflyer and asked Ges to stay with it. Before he went to his father, his eyes softened slightly, and he leaned back in to say to Ges, "I have no idea what my father will say. But you... whatever it is, you're keeping my heart for me right now." He brushed his lips across Ges's forehead, and it felt like being kissed with fire.

At that moment, if he could have, Ges would have leapt out of the lightflyer and grabbed the figure striding away from him, and flown them both off to... where? He'd nearly forgotten what his need for Aral could be like. Keeping his own counsel -- _"Patience, patience, patience..."_ echoing through his mind -- was easy enough when Aral was gone, and even when he was in town, as long as his sister and Aral were getting along. But this unexpected time alone with Aral, even a miserable Aral, was close to unbearable.

_So is this a test he's giving me, or a come-on? No way to find out but to try...._

Aral returned about half an hour later, white around the lips and hunched over. He settled into the lightflyer with a huge sigh.

"Tell me what he said?" Ges offered tentatively.

"Perhaps. But we could both use a drink first. I want to take you somewhere different." 

Aral sped the lightflyer over Vorbarr Sultana and beyond, over fields white with snow. He finally landed just over the border into Vormuir's district, in front of a little pub that had to be the only drinking establishment for miles around. Ges was surprised at the number of flyers parked outside, and the lack of farm wagons or agricultural vehicles. Vormuir's district had been the first to be completely terraformed, and nearly all the foodstuffs for Vorbarr Sultana came from its rich soil.

Aral, with a courtly bow, opened the door of the pub for Ges, who was now really wondering what the hell Piotr had told his son to do. The interior was softly lit and warm, and men stood at the bar counter where a large, friendly-looking woman pulled cider from a tap, or huddled in pairs around little tables.

There were no women here other than the barkeep. _Piotr didn't tell his son to bring us here._

Aral stopped at the counter to collect two ciders for them. "Lis," he said, and she held up a hand in greeting. 

"Haven't seen you here in a while, Aral. But I guess you're a married man now..."

"So I am. And this," he said as he put an arm around Ges's shoulders, "is my brother-in-law Ges Vorrutyer." Lis gave them a barely contained look of astonishment.

Aral dropped several extra marks on the counter and pointed his chin towards a quiet table in a darker corner. Lis swept up the money with a little "go-ahead" nod. "What is this place?" Ges whispered?

"A place for men like you. Surprised you haven't heard of it; half the men here are in the Imperial Service." Ges looked around and immediately identified two men he knew from Ops, and a few others he sometimes observed in a certain park in Vorbarr Sultana. OK, Aral was right; he should have known about this place. But why the hell had Aral brought him here? They settled on benches on the opposite sides of their designated table.

"And is it a place for men like you, Aral?" Ges's tone was lightly mocking.

"It ... hasn't been. At least since I married. Now ... I don't know. It might be. Later. But for you, unhindered by a wife..."

Ges brushed off Aral's hint of casual infidelity. That had never been important, when they were together, and it wasn't like they had had much time for other partners during their brief home leaves from the Imperial Service Academy. Or rather, they'd been too busy with each other to care to look for any hidden options. Instead, he focused on the deep uncertainty in Aral's voice, and the visceral want behind it.

"So how did you find out about it?"

Aral gave him an ironic grin. "Jeroen Vorkalloner."

"What? That little two-bit sneak who called my mother a whore?"

"Indeed, the very one, our splendid hypocrite. I'd be surprised that he's not here tonight, except I know he's out on ship duty right now."

"You didn't ... sleep with _him_ , did you?" That would not be in the category of forgivable, casual infidelity, given Jeroen's insults.

"Please, no! He's scum. And I wouldn't, ah, fuck scum."

"Present company excepted?"

"You, Ges, are not scum." Aral's eyes were glittering.

"What am I then?" Ges asked lowly.

Aral stood, and whipped a curtain Ges hadn't noticed before in front of their table, to block the view from the rest of the pub. Ges gasped as Aral pinned him on the bench and breathed into his ear, "My temptation, my vice, my heart, my love." Aral's hands were all over him, and then Aral's mouth, nipping at his neck and then moving lower... Ges practically ripped his tunic and undershirt getting them over his head, and started to slide one hand under Aral's tunic, and the other hand down. There was white-hot passion here, and it wouldn't take much to....

And then, just as quickly as it started, it was over. Aral was sitting on the bench on the other side of the table with his head in his hands, breathing hard and muttering "can't do it... no, can't, can't do it..." over and over again. 

Ges knew enough to stay on his own bench. But he reached a hand across the table, and as Aral looked up and took it in both of his hands, he asked, "What can't you do?"

"This. Or ... I could, but ... I can't. Not anymore." Aral took a deep breath, and stood. "Let's go back to Vorbarr Sultana."

They unrumpled themselves as best as they could. The bartender gave them a sad look as they left, and as they got to the lightflyer, Aral said, "Lis knows everything that happens, or doesn't happen, here. I'm being terrible to you, and I'd tell you to turn around and go pour your heart out to her, but I don't think I should be flying alone right now."

They traveled in silence, almost until they were back in Vorbarr Sultana. Then Aral spoke. "My father told me ... that your sister -- my wife -- needs to be put in her place. Forced to see that she is a grown woman now, who has to sacrifice her trivial happiness for our security and the future of our House, not some silly young maiden who thinks that marriage is all excitement and romance."

"So you should give her a good talking to?" Ges knew that wouldn't be enough to bring her in line, and Piotr most likely knew it too. "Or something else?"

"He said that I should... rape ... take her. With force. And do it again, every day I'm home, to get her pregnant as quickly as I can. B... beat her if she's uncooperative."

Ges was sickened. "And you are actually going to do it?" Aral had set his jaw and didn't answer him, and Ges decided that maybe he didn't want to know. He definitely did not want to be in Vorrutyer House tonight. "Aral, drop me off at Ops. I can bunk there, I'll borrow a uniform from someone in the morning."

\--------------------------------------- 

He stayed away for a day or two, then went back to retrieve his own kit and visit his sister. She didn't answer when he knocked at the door of her and Aral's suite of rooms. The next two days, when he dropped by, there was still no answer, although one of the servants assured Ges that although his sister had taken ill, and asked that no one but Aral be with her; she would recover soon. Ges could only wonder from what.

Winterfair season was in full swing, and there was an endless series of parties and balls to attend, but Ges skipped them all, feeling no joy of the season. Word got back to him that Aral was spotted at a few of them, without his wife. Ges stayed at Ops, burying himself in work and trying not to think about what might have happened between Aral and his sister. 

Finally, the night before Aral was to leave, Ges was invited over for dinner. This was a celebratory occasion as well as an attempt to patch things up; Aral's quick work in a tricky spaceship mutiny had earned him a promotion to lieutenant. Aral and his wife were waiting in the dining room for him when he arrived at Vorrutyer House. Ges gave them both a once-over and was surprised to find no signs of tension; in fact they were holding hands and smiling at one another. Aral beckoned him to sit at his other hand, and the dinner turned out to be pleasant. Ges's sister was charming and funny, telling little jokes that made both Ges and Aral roar with laughter. The addition of a couple of bottles of very good wine -- "Courtesy of my father," Aral informed him -- only made things more enjoyable.

When they had finished and were enjoying a Vorkosigan-provided dessert wine, Ges's sister asked him, "Did you know that Aral could draw?"

"Of course. His engineering drawings were the envy of everyone when we were in the Service Academy."

"No, I mean draw _people!_ He's really quite good." Aral was smiling, though somewhat embarrassed by his wife's praise. She turned to him and beamed at him, full of pride. "Would it be OK... um, sweetheart, could we show Ges the drawings you did of me last evening?" Aral nodded, and the three of them went up to their sitting room.

The drawings were, in fact, lovely. Most were nudes, which probably explained Aral's embarrassment. The hand was less certain than Ges had seen used on Aral's technical drawings, but his sister's essence was captured nonetheless. "She's right, you know, Aral. I never would have guessed."

"Oh, I used to want to be an artist, when I was a boy." Aral's voice shook a little as he asked, "Ges, could I get a few of you while you're here?"

"I'm assuming... not nudes." Ges knew he was tweaking Aral slightly, but it was all in good humor, and he was so relieved to find that the couple had made up with each other. His sister giggled, while Aral merely smiled, and gestured to Ges to sit in a chair near his easel. "Do I need to pose?" he asked.

"Preferably not. Darling, tell your brother a few more of your jokes. He's at his best when he's laughing."

Aral was right, as it turned out. Ges admired the first drawing, which showed him laughing so hard that one could almost see the curly hair Aral had drawn bobbing. A couple more quick sketches were dispatched, made better by his sister's happiness over them, and then Ges stopped Aral. "Can we try something different?"

"Yes," Aral said, in the same shaky voice as before.

Ges stood and took off his jacket so he was wearing just his uniform pants and crisp, white buttoned undershirt. He rolled up the sleeves to the elbows. Then he splayed out on a chaise and lounged back in it with his eyes half-open and his hands behind his neck. He pouted slightly. He imagined himself and Aral back in their Academy days, when a pose like this meant only one thing, and caught Aral in his gaze. Aral coughed and reddened, but went ahead with a new sketch, and the result was utterly compelling. Every line of muscle beneath Ges's clothes showed, and a few deft strokes made his arousal obvious if one knew what to look for. Ges could imagine Aral taking a holo of it to carry with him, and wished that his own drawing skills were good enough that he could get a similarly emotionally naked image of Aral to carry in turn.

In the process of making this drawing, Ges and Aral had locked their eyes on each other. His sister had vanished out of Ges's mind, as he watched Aral chew his lip slightly and return the gaze. It was only when his sister nervously exclaimed how the new drawing was _"my very favorite!"_ that the spell between them broke.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Well, you've picked yourself a good partner for that sort of thing. I don't know Aral well, but he's got a stick up his butt about honor, and a temper, and a wife. Your sister, in case you've forgotten. Why the hell do you want to get tangled up in that?"_
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> Content: Ges gets some advice, his sister is up to some new and interesting tricks, and the deaths associated with the end of Aral's first marriage begin. 
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> Warnings: bondage, more sexual frustration, language, very strong incestuous impulses, all tangled up together. This is a long, brutal chapter.

Aral's next off-planet stint was scheduled to be only a few days long. From what Ges could tell, Aral was serving as an aide de camp, carrying messages and documents between the space-based forces and various government factions to push forward a delicately negotiated power-sharing agreement. Aral's departure from Vorrutyer House was cheerful; Ges's sister planted kisses on his hands and face and gazed at him adoringly, while Aral embraced Ges in a hearty, masculine hug. For Ges, it was all very confusing; after all, less than a week ago, Aral had nearly thrown himself at Ges, and then immediately gone and made up with his wife in what Ges assumed to be a rather brutal way -- and just the previous night, Ges and Aral had had such an undercurrent of lust between them, as Aral had sketched Ges. And now Aral was acting maddeningly like none of that ever happened, all was well among them, and he'd look forward to a happy reunion with his wife.

This picture of domestic bliss was marred when only a night later, Ges's sister once again had Lord Vorwyn visiting her. Ges, who felt something like a child watching a balloon getting inflated, knowing it would pop sometime, chose to spend another night away. He wondered when his fellow officers would start teasing him about the number of nights he was spending cooped up in the spartan bunkroom at Ops rather than the relative opulence of Vorrutyer House. Or how long it would take for them to figure out that he was staying away from some sort of domestic trouble. It was farcical to think that his official duties were at all overwhelming; this was _Ops_ \-- one step above "the scum of the Service," the brave warriors who sometimes got out of control. _Like Aral?_ But the only one who seemed to have noticed Ges's changed habits was Major Olrent, who'd given him the honor guard requisitions to handle, and also was one of the men Ges had seen at Lis's pub when he and Aral had been there. 

Olrent had offered him a ride out there one night, but Ges had declined. "It's not really what I'm after, these days."

"Well, it sure looked like it was, when you and Vorkosigan were visiting. I don't know what happened behind that curtain, but you two practically set the place afire with the heat between you."

"Um... yes. I don't really want to talk about it, though. Ar... Vorkosigan's honor is worth more than a bit of gossip." Ges's slip of the tongue had won him a quirked eyebrow from Olrent, but Ges supposed that his relationship, such as it was, with Aral was an open secret now. In fact, he had to assume that ImpSec had an agent out at Lis's monitoring the clientele, and probably some poor ImpSec analyst counted "monitoring Aral Vorkosigan's lovelife" among his duties.

"Well, Vorrutyer, I can see that you might not want to talk with a superior officer about it. But if you're distracted with heartache over it, go talk to Lis some afternoon, before things get busy."

Aral himself had told Ges that Lis was a good confidante, which increased the value of Olrent's endorsement. After lunch one day during the week that Aral was gone, Ges begged off his duties, pleading exhaustion -- which was true, given that he'd logged into his comconsole in the middle of the night and got through more than a day's work by lunchtime -- and headed out.

Lis smiled at him as he came through the door and shook the snow off his coat before hanging it up. There were only a handful of men visible, plus whoever coupled beyond the curtains of a few of the private booths. He glanced towards them, and Lis said, "Those men'll keep themselves busy for a while. Tell me -- Ges, right? -- what's brought you out here to talk with me?" So Aral was slightly wrong about Lis; not only did she know everything that happened here, she seemed to know a great deal about what happened elsewhere, among men of a certain persuasion.

"Eh, what you usually hear, I'll bet. Love troubles." He tried, and failed, to sound diffident.

Lis pulled him a mug of her excellent cider, and leaned in closer to him. "Well, you've picked yourself a good partner for that sort of thing. I don't know Aral well, but he's got a stick up his butt about honor, and a temper, and a wife. Your sister, in case you've forgotten. Why the hell do you want to get tangled up in that?"

Her language was blunt, but her tone was kind, and Ges supposed she picked up a few crude phrases from spending all her time with men. He doubted that any of her clientele moderated their language around her as they would for a proper Barrayaran woman. "It's been going on a long time. Nearly five years, actually."

"You mean...you didn't stop when he got married? He doesn't seem the sort who'd go for that, at least not for a few years until he realizes that your sister isn't going to cure him of his affliction." Lis shook her head sadly.

"Well... he's stopped in some ways, but not others. And I only stopped because he did. So I wait. Part of the reason -- OK, the main reason, as far as I am concerned -- that he's married to my sister is that I set the whole thing up. But it's not going well. She needs more attention than Aral can give her, and ..."

"I know all about your sister's reputation. Beautiful little minx she is; I'd have her myself if I thought she'd even give a fat old lady like me a second glance."

Oh. Lis's self-mocking didn't disguise anything. For a moment, Ges contemplated whether Lis and his sister might enjoy each other's company, but for all his sister's varied appetites, she'd never given him any evidence that she was interested in women. And her life was complicated enough, and managing those complications was Ges's duty, too, in a way.

"So what do you want?" Lis asked him.

"Aral."

"And what have you been doing to get him?"

"Directly? Not much. It's strange." Ges had a sudden insight, and went on. "He's... well, he's always been the one doing, so to speak, between us. Except now, ever since we graduated from the Imperial Service Academy, he never quite finishes what he starts."

"I about figured as much, after that night. I don't ever think I've seen two men so frustrated as you two were, walking out of here." She took a deep breath. "Here's my take on it. You've set him a nice little trap with this marriage, expecting that he'd eventually just walk into it and reopen his arms to you. But he's got too many obstacles in his mind to actually get that far. He's much too Old Vor. We are, after all, discussing the great General Count Piotr Vorkosigan's son. You are sitting there waiting for him instead of chasing him in."

The metaphor made a lot of sense to Ges. So much of what he was doing with Aral now, and so much that he'd done when they were at the Academy, was a sort of gentle persuasion, showing Aral what he could do and making it easy for him to do it.

"So I need to push, instead of pull." The idea terrified Ges.

"Yes. No guarantees of course, but all this waiting isn't helping you any better." Lis paused for a moment, before adding, "But be gentle with him, Ges."

 

The night before Aral was scheduled to return, Ges escorted his sister to the wedding of one of Count Vorpatril's sons. At the reception, his sister's eyes lit up when she spotted Andros Vortorren across the room. She took Ges's hand, and plunged through the crowd to get to her lover.

Vortorren nodded a greeting to Ges, and took his sister's hands and bent to kiss them. Ges noticed that the gesture was a bit more than a kiss, as Vortorren circled his fingers around his sister's wrists, turned her hands over, and tightened his grip as he kissed her palms. Then he pushed her arms apart and up against the wall behind her with a steady pressure. As he released her, he asked, "So, have you considered my offer?"

"Yes," she said. "I'm very excited." Her eyes sparkled and she blushed.

"Well then." Vortorren gave the air a delicate sniff. "So you are, my dear. A nice lesson I have set up for you, as you'll see. Ges, you'll give us a ride back to Vorrutyer House in an hour or so?"

"Of course," Ges replied amiably. Vortorren was clearly aware that Ges knew his sister's secrets, and the man had the savoir faire to make it seem like it didn't matter.

Vortorren moved off into the crowd with Ges's sister, promising to introduce her to some of his friends. As Ges turned, he found Count Vorkosigan, standing off to one side about ten feet away with a hard, cold frown on his face. He'd obviously heard everything.

Ges thought back to Lis's advice, and added to it. _Get to Aral before Piotr does._ He'd thought he would have at least a few days to plan how to push Aral instead of pulling him. Now, he had the rest of the night, and not much more. 

 

Ges had a reasonably good idea about what plans Andros Vortorren had for his sister. He'd never been too interested in that sort of play, but it promised to be different enough to be well worth watching, so he slipped into his usual spot in the closet, behind the grille. He noticed that the bed was freshly made with the sheets he'd given her and Aral for their engagement. She'd packed them away when she'd started her affair with Vorwyn, and this was the first time she'd used them with any partner other than Aral. Ges found this to be vaguely disturbing.

He heard laughter from the other room, and then Vortorren and his sister came in. Vortorren handed her a prettily made up jar of women's depilatory and tilted his chin towards the bathroom.

"All of it?" his sister asked, seeming a bit uncertain.

"Yes," Vortorren replied. "It will not sting or burn even the most tender areas. And if you want this from me, you must learn not to ask unbidden questions." Ges's sister blushed slightly and lowered her head, and went into the bathroom. Vortorren closed the door behind her.

While she was gone, Vortorren reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out four cuffs on ropes, which he attached them to the bedposts. He tested the knots for strength. Satisfied, he sat in a chair that faced the bathroom door. He was normally very cool and composed, but tonight he was restless and full of anticipation. He did not undress.

A few minutes later, Ges's sister emerged. A few droplets from the bath shimmered on her skin. She was naked and, yes, without the usual mass of ringlets at her crotch. It was startling to Ges to see this nakedness on a grown woman. On his sister.

She giggled slightly when she saw the cuffs, and Vortorren held a finger to his lips, reminding her to be silent. He took her hand and sat her on the edge of the bed across from his chair.

"Hm, yes, very nice. Show me a little more." He pushed her knees apart. "Oh, extremely nice. You are lovely, you know." He spent a few moments taking her in before continuing. "Now, my dear, before we do anything more, you need a safeword."

"What's that?" she asked. Ges knew what a safeword was -- not that he'd ever needed one -- but much to his surprise, his sister didn't. 

"A word... you say if you need me to stop. I can guarantee that you'll be screaming 'No!' when you really don't want me to stop at all. Think of something that you would never, ever say in an erotic context. A word that will grab my attention in case I am too... distracted by your loveliness to see that you can't take any more."

Ges's sister pondered this for a moment. "Aral." She said it flatly, as if it meant nothing to her. 

Ges winced as he wondered whether this could possibly be the same woman who'd fawned over her husband only a few days before. Vortorren raised his eyebrows, clearly as startled as Ges was. "Things are that bad between you and your husband? You've never cried out his name at the height of your passion?"

"Never." Ges's sister's voice was extremely cold. "I cannot say that he has ever excited me enough," she said with a bored drawl. Ges winced again. He knew Aral wasn't broadly skilled at lovemaking, but what Aral did choose to do, Ges had always thought he'd done extremely well.

"Well...." Vortorren was clearly uncomfortable.

"It is my choice. There is no better use for _that_ name," she said bitterly. 

"Well then. Until we are done, that is the last choice you get. No changing your mind, later on."

Ges didn't think he could bear to hear his sister use her safeword. Could Aral really mean that little to her? He made a silent prayer, hoping that Vortorren was skilled enough to judge his partner's limits.

Vortorren lifted Ges's sister into his arms, and then laid her out on her back in the bed. She seemed to take having her arms and legs restrained spread-eagled with no particular problem. Ges couldn't help but stare, she was that beautiful, bare and vulnerable. He unbuttoned the top button of his pants, surprised at how quickly he was getting aroused.

Vortorren walked around the bed, clearly pleased with the montage he'd created. He switched off the lights, and smiled. Ges understood why, as he saw that the moonlight, combined with the lights of Vorbarr Sultana, illuminated his sister nearly as brightly as the indoor lights had, and cast a warm glow over her pale skin.

"Follow me with your eyes, my sweet." Vortorren's instruction was given lovingly. He watched and kept walking from one side of the bed to the other. When Ges's sister broke eye contact momentarily, Vortorren whipped out a hand and pinched one of her nipples, hard. "Keep watching me." She made a great effort, and every time she failed, Vortorren would hurt her in some way. After a while, he stood still and locked eyes with her, and started bringing out various toys to use on her. Sometimes he'd put them aside and just use his fingernails or his teeth. She was breathing hard, and _glistening._

Watching her like this was overwhelming Ges. When she'd offered herself up to him, before her marriage, he'd fled in a panic. _Now, I could... have her, like this. I could do anything I wanted._ He didn't know if he was angry or glad that the closet door in his sister's room was now locked from her side, so he couldn't get through. His hands wandered down... he had never done this before. He'd always stored up the images he got from his watching for later. But this time... no. He found himself following his sister's patterns, as Vortorren brought her to the brink and then stopped, again and again. He imagined himself in Vortorren's place, but taking her further.

When Vortorren picked up his next toy, Ges's eyes grew wide, just as his sister's did. It was exactly like something he'd given to Aral as a joke once, when they were still at the Academy. But... larger. His sister was biting her lip.

"You're not losing courage on me, are you? Not ready to use that most interesting safeword, are you?"

"I'm ... N-no." Ges had never heard his sister sound so unsure of herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and strained against the cuffs a little. Vortorren waited, smiling, as she started to beg. "But... I, please, I want..."

Vortorren plunged the toy into her, hard and fast, so her eyes flew open and she gasped. Ges wasn't sure he could hold off much longer... 

Her ecstatic screams drowned out the sounds of his own climax. Ges sank back, spent, shocked, gulping in big breaths. He knew he was in trouble now, as none of his usual muzziness or sleepiness manifested. All he could think about was her.

 

Aral's arrival the next day was marked by more of that weird married-man cheer that was so confusing to Ges. He walked up and clapped Ges on the back, all very masculine, then stood back and looked him up and down. "Ges, I'm not used to being met... You look spooked. What's up?"

After the previous evening's events, Ges was, in fact, feeling a bit spooked. "I just need to talk with you before you get home."

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing serious." Well, that wasn't quite true. "One man to another, OK? Someplace private."

They chose to go back to the cafe where Aral had asked Ges to be his Second for the wedding. Aral seemed a bit baffled by the need for a private room, but acquiesced when Ges pushed him a little about it, and offered to pay the extra cost. After their drinks had arrived, Ges caught Aral's eye. Aral's expressions shifted, but Ges was too nervous to speak. Lis was right... Aral had always taken the lead. But _Come to me, Aral_ would not work now. _You are going where I want you to because I'm making you go there._

Finally Aral ran out of patience. "So, Ges. What's this all about?"

"The drawing. You remember, right before you left, that last drawing you made?" It felt a bit like beating around the bush, but Ges wasn't quite ready to make his proposition. And providing some evidence to Aral of Aral's own feelings would strengthen his case. 

"Y-yes. Look, you were pushing your limits there. I only did it as a favor."

 _Oh, you think you can just dismiss me...._ "You're lying and you know it. You loved making it. I shouldn't be crude, but when your eyes weren't fixated on mine, they were fixated on my crotch."

Aral lowered his eyes, and they both sat in silence. "Well... perhaps," he said after a minute or so.

"You still want me. I still want you. We need to deal with it." It felt strange to Ges to be so forward, and he wished he'd asked Lis for some more direct instruction. 

Aral leaned back and crossed his hands over his chest in a defensive posture. "I've been thinking about that myself. I hadn't anticipated that when we married, you'd practically be part of the marriage too. Perhaps it's time for us to get our own place."

"Wasn't having me part of it the point?" Ges was getting annoyed.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, Aral, stop being so thick-headed." Ges leaned forward. "You know .... hell, you took me to Lis's and..." Ges held up two fingers about an inch apart, just in front of Aral's face. "... came this close to throwing me over that table and having me right there. You had no reason to stop, but you did. And I know you weren't doing it just to tease me."

"I don't cheat on my wife." A flat statement, like _"The world is round."_ Except Aral wasn't really stating something incontrovertible, and it sounded like he knew it.

"Please. This is ridiculous. You've been cheating on her all along, with me. Sure, we haven't actually... fucked since graduation, but you know it's going to happen. Why all the demurral? You're acting. Nice act, too. Like the dirtiest whore would do, 'cause she thinks Barrayaran men get off on conquest."

Aral sat back and stared at him, open-mouthed. He took a deep breath in and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he said, "You've convinced me that I'm right. We need to move, get away from you. You're a bad influence, I just didn't let myself see it."

 _Wait, you're not supposed to run away._ In desperation, Ges fell back on a quid pro quo. "There's no reason for you to be faithful to her," he snarled. "She's certainly not being faithful to you. You know you're just going to be stretching your pay to rent bedspace for her and her boyfriends."

"What!" Aral's face was red, and he rose from his chair and moved towards Ges like he was going to attack.

"Andros Vortorren. Jonas Vorwyn. And your wife. They've been running circles around you for months now. And it's not exactly a big secret, either."

Aral put his hands on Ges's shoulders, uncomprehending. For some reason Ges wanted to kiss him, but that seemed a very bad idea at the moment. _I wish I could make it all better for you._

"I don't believe you. She's not the sort who would.... she's too..."

"Honorable. That's what you were going to say, right?" _That_ hit home. "If you believe that, you don't know her at all. Ask around. Ask your father. He knows. I assure you, you are full of hopeless illusions about her." He was furious at Aral for being so stupid.

But then Aral just crumpled. All his pride and conviction went right out of him as he sat back down. "I can't take this."

Ges's near-rage had vanished, replaced by... Ges put his finger on it. _Love._ "I could help..."

"No. You want.... what you want is not going to happen." Aral rose again and opened the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To... take care of this. Permanently."

Rage again. And a deep desire to hurt Aral. "Oh. Like the last time. You'll go and rape her again. Did you know she loves rough sex? Fixed things right up between you, the last time. You should get some lessons from Vortorren; he'll show you how it's really done." This was said to Aral's retreating back, though he turned for a moment and stared at Ges. And then he was gone.

Ges let out a huge sigh, and hung his head between his hands. This was not what he'd intended at all. He supposed that he ought to feel relieved that Aral hadn't beat the stuffing out of him, or worse. Instead he was just angry at Aral -- and at himself, for ever thinking that he could just jump right in and change the dynamic between them. Not after five years of this delicate dance of him gently persuading Aral into forthright action. He could forgive himself -- but only a little -- because he'd been forced to try too soon, to try to influence Aral before Piotr could.

He called to the waiter through the open door, ordered a bottle of brandy, and swore to drink it all before he left the cafe.

 

Ges spent yet another night in a bunk at Ops, this one alternating between vomiting and very unrestful dozing. He wished he could just crawl back into bed and stay there until the waves of nausea that were afflicting him ran their course, but he'd been away so much dealing with his personal crises that he didn't think his commanding officer would be too forgiving of absences. He was just relieved that Ops duty was so much less demanding than most Service assignments; he couldn't imagine the depths of unhappiness that would exist by now if he'd been assigned to ship-duty, or even to a real base. His sister had been leaning on him, and he wasn't sure if there was anyone else in Vorbarr Sultana who could support her as well as he could, without also trying to get into her bed.

Up until now. The images from two nights previously flooded into his consciousness. It was no coincidence, he realized, that this happened just as he was starting to use his depilator cream on his face. Naked. Opened. Oh, god.... she was so lovely like that. Ges stopped for a moment and leaned his head against the wall, finding that arousal and nausea didn't mix very well. He wondered how long Aral would be in Vorbarr Sultana, and how he could tell his sister that he wanted her, now.

Ges felt like he was at war with himself. His sexuality was already transgressive enough, by Barrayaran standards. But transgressive didn't necessarily mean harmful. He watched, but only what others did willingly. And he'd never actually had sex with -- hadn't even kissed -- anyone but Aral. What he was considering now definitely crossed some boundary into harmful that he hadn't even been aware of, a few days before. At the same time, his sister flirted with him, and before she was married, she had invited him into her bed. If he could just let it happen, maybe he could take those cuffs and toys to her...

_Stop._

Ges started breathing again. He realized that he didn't need to rush. And his sister was like Aral, in that from what Ges had seen, a man only needed to show her the possibilities he offered to get her rushing eagerly into them. _This will probably be easier than trying to reverse roles with Aral was..._ Ges had to chase the images from his talk with Aral out of his mind; it was just too depressing to think about how badly he'd erred.

He finished dressing and reported for duty. His commanding officer seemed surprised to see Ges up and about, but didn't comment. 

After several hours of drinking coffee and very low productivity, it was time for lunch. The mess hall was crowded and noisy as usual, but luckily for Ges's still-rebellious stomach, today's meal was a bland one.

As he approached his usual table, the junior officers who were already there grew very quiet. Ges sat heavily, and said, flatly, "Hungover." His peers wouldn't look him in the eye, and they stayed silent.

Ges coughed, and asked, "What's going on? Have I turned leprous and just don't know it yet?"

"Um, Ges..." The man speaking, or trying to, was one of the newer additions, someone Ges didn't know very well yet. It almost seemed like he was going to say "Yes" to Ges's joking question.

"What?!? Spill, already!"

"Um, two men killed each other in a duel this morning."

"And?" 

Just at that moment, Major Olrent came up to the table. "Vorrutyer, could you come up to my office?"

"Do you know what's going on here?" Ges asked.

"Yes. I think you want to leave your lunch now and come up with me." It was a command, backed with an implied threat. Well, it wouldn't be difficult to leave his meal behind; Ges had been poking at it throughout the conversation, trying to decide whether vat-chicken or rice was less likely to make him vomit all over the table.

When they reached Olrent's office, he shut the door behind them. "Vorrutyer, I'll get right to the point. The two men who killed each other by dueling were Andros Vortorren and Jonas Vorwyn. Who, I believe, both had, ah, an interest in your sister."

"What do you... wait, what?"

"I suspect that you'll be needed at home. If Aral Vorkosigan knows anything about his wife's affairs... Take the rest of the afternoon."

"Thank you, Sir." When it came to Ges's sister, Vortorren and Vorwyn were hardly rivals. She managed them both -- _sometimes at the same time and I wonder if they'd have me too...._ Of course, they might have found something else to fight about, but Vortorren? Dueling? His skills seemed confined to the interpersonal realm, so how could he have managed to do in Vorwyn before being done in himself? 

He turned to leave, but Olrent stopped him. "Vorrutyer -- Ges -- I know that things are complicated, right now, but people are starting to notice your absences. The Service only asks for nine hours from an average day. Try to confine your outside life to the remaining hours if you can." 

By the time he left the building, Ges was terrified. There was no way that a duel between Vortorren and Vorwyn could have ended with both of them dead. And then he knew. _Aral did it. Killed them both, and arranged it to look like they'd killed each other._

When Ges arrived home, Armsman Ruben, one of the two who stayed permanently in Vorbarr Sultana, rushed up to him. "Oh, we are so glad you're here, sir! Lord Vorkosigan never showed up last night, but he's upstairs now. He was very angry, he threw all the servants out in the hall, threatened to kill them if they tried to interfere.... There's a terrible fight going on."

It was disturbing to see an Armsman so rattled. "OK, I might be able to help." Ges broke into a run... and took the wrong staircase.

The remodeling done for the young couple had included blocking off the hallway between Ges's room and his sister's. Thus, they used different staircases now. And Ges had taken the one to his room, rather than his sister's. Maybe it was an unconscious mistake. He could hear the fighting, and it sounded violent, but maybe things would calm down enough that he'd be able to get Aral and his sister to let him in... and if not, he could probably breach the old closet door, hopefully without Aral turning a weapon on him. He remembered the last time he'd thought about breaking through the door, as an image of his sister with Vortorren flashed into his mind and then vanished.

Ges settled into his customary hiding spot. Aral and his sister were not in the bedroom, but in the sitting room. 

"I'd challenge you to a duel myself for humiliating me like this!" his sister shouted.

"I wouldn't fight a woman, even one who wronged me as much as you have." Aral's voice was tense but softer than Ges had expected.

His sister goaded Aral. "Coward!"

There was a brief scuffling sound, and something in the sitting room crashed to the floor. And then Ges saw shards of china flying, as one of them had hurled an antique lamp into the wall. But it didn't sound like they were actually hitting each other.

Ges saw the cuffs still attached to the bed, and his stomach sank. One of them was curled over his sister's pillow, like she'd clung to it in her sleep, and perhaps she had. But he hated to think what would happen if Aral found them, and hoped the couple would stay in the sitting room. But if Aral really had raped her... did he have the same thing in mind, if she did not relent soon?

Something in the fight caught his attention. "... reason you married me is so you could keep fucking my brother!" 

"That is ... not true." There was a note of hesitance, and normally Ges would have cherished it. But not now.

"I saw you! I saw you when you were drawing him, saw how he was all sprawled back, inviting you, and your eyes were so hungry for him I don't think you would have noticed if I'd taken off all my clothes right there. Unless I'd stood in your way, and then you would have pushed me aside to get at him." 

"You're wrong. I married you for you, though now I wonder why."

"Get a divorce, then!" Ges's sister spat out. "I am done with you."

A few moments of silence followed. Ges felt he had to give Aral credit for defending his somewhat battered honor, especially under the circumstances. 

There was another horrible crash, and Ges's sister was shrieking, though her ability to form actual words seemed to have vanished, and Aral was pushing her into the bedroom. He had her in a distinctly non-regulation body lock, though he couldn't stop her screaming. Aral was silent, determined, and -- Ges's heart caught when he realized it -- very aroused.

Aral pushed Ges's sister face down onto the bed, and held her down with one hand while the other was reaching to undo his belt, when he just... stopped. Just like he had with Ges, that night at Lis's. He released her as he picked up one of the cuffs. With almost incomprehensible hurt, he asked, "What are these?"

"Andros gave them to me." Her voice flinched at the pain of recalling her dead lover. " _He_ gave me a nice lesson the other night. He knew how to make love to me." She curled onto her side, drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. 

"Ah. So I should have believed your brother when he told me. My father was right about you. Not just a slut and a bitch but a pervert, too."

His sister said nothing.

"Talk to me, dammit!"

Silence.

Aral didn't force her. Rather, he stripped off his Service-issue stunner and plasma arc, and threw them aside. "OK then. I am going back to my ship, to await my arrest. And then my well-deserved death. And I will keep asking myself until the very moment my last breath leaves my body whether I made a mistake by ever assuming you had honor to defend in the first place."

More silence. But Ges's sister rolled into a sitting position and looked up at Aral with an awful, shocky, stare. Very quietly, she said, "Please, just leave."

"That's it?!? I am going to die and that's all you can say?"

Yet more silence.

"Well then. I suppose that you shall enjoy my execution. And I suppose that I shall have to haunt you for the rest of your life, for causing it to happen. Three deaths on your hands, bitch!"

Nothing.

Ges couldn't stand it any more. Even as he heard Aral leave the room, he moved towards the closet door, hoping that maybe he could comfort his sister. He could hear his sister's soft weeping as he knocked on the closet door from the inside. "It's Ges," he said.

"Go away," came her anguished voice from the other side of the door.

"I'm so sorry," he said. The apology sounded weak to him, and maybe it was.

"For what? It's all your fault; you just made sure we got married so you'd still have a chance with him." Her words were biting now.

"It's not that simple... but you're right, I didn't want to give him up. But he didn't want to give me up either, I think. I had hoped that ... look, you're more open-minded, that maybe ... we could share him."

Just as Ges said this, he heard soft footsteps behind him, in his room. Miss Elisa, the maid who'd come from Vorkosigan House when his sister and Aral were married, put a hand to her mouth in shock as he turned to face her. Of course the servants and the two Armsmen who stayed at Vorrutyer House permanently knew the depths of the sadness and anger coming from this ill-fated marriage. But they hadn't known certain details. Ges didn't care that they probably would, now.

Ges rattled the doorknob, and got what sounded like boots thunking against the other side of the door in return. The sound of a few quick footsteps indicated that his sister was just inside. If he could just get to her... 

Then his sister hissed, "You just used me. Both of you." Her voice rose, fury ringing through every syllable. "He thought I'd give the right impression to all those men he's trying to butter up for his fucking career! A beautiful wife of the appropriate social class, eventually a couple of children, everything looking all right and proper when it's really just a sham, all rotten underneath. I should kill you both, just for that alone. And that's not even considering that he killed Andros... and Jonas."

Ges deserved all her epithets, and more. At that moment, if she'd faced him down with a lethal weapon, he would have opened his arms and begged her to fire it. He shook the doorknob again, and then started kicking the door.

"Stop! Don't you dare! I told you to go away, and I meant it!"

Ges's next kick made a small crack in the outer door panel. "So what would you do to stop me?"

"Your lover left his weapons behind. I'd take his plasma arc and burn this whole house down if that's what it takes to keep you away from me!" 

Ges didn't doubt that she would do exactly what she said; and furthermore, he didn't think that she would try to save herself, if she did. That switch of terms, from 'Aral' or 'my husband' to 'your lover' captured just one of her losses -- or maybe two. She likely counted Ges as lost to her, not just Aral. And Andros Vortorren. And Jonas Vorwyn. She was tough, but losing four of the five most important men in her life, all but the Count her father, in one day, might be more than she could bear.

"I'm going out for a walk," he said. No reply came from the other side of the door.

As Ges left Vorrutyer House, he wondered how much more he could take.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He opened his eyes. There was a little light from outside coming through the heavy curtains, from the same moonlight that had illuminated his sister's loveliness just two nights before. Her heart-shaped face and the beauty of her exposed body hovered in his consciousness until it was replaced by something infinitely weary and far less beautiful -- but equally loved._
> 
> Content: A surprise, Ges's sister's death, Aral's return, Ges and Aral journey to Vorrutyer District for the funeral.
> 
> Warnings: Death, violence, heartbreak

Ges wandered from Vorrutyer House around the edges of the nearby Caravanserai, lost in thought. He hoped to make amends to his sister, but he couldn't guess how. Aral, he figured, would be arrested, if not by now, within hours. And the penalty for dueling was death. So he would lose Aral, too. 

As he walked, Ges occasionally noticed some of the poor wretches who called this place their home. For all that their daily existence was a struggle, he couldn't imagine that any of them were as devastated this evening as he was.

He heard voices coming from an alleyway. It sounded like an argument, a woman and an adolescent boy fighting about something. He was curious, so he stopped to listen for a moment.

"I'm done with you, Ma. I'm not coming back, you can't make me." The boy's voice cracked.

The woman mocked him in return. "And what do you think you'll do with yourself?"

"Not anything like you do. You sold me to those perverts who wanted to fuck a boy instead of you."

"And that fed us both, I'll make clear, 'til you up and ran away on me."

"I can take care of myself. I'm gonna join the Service, get out of this hellhole. Leave you to rot here."

"Be that way, then. You've got another two years 'fore the Service'll take you, don't come crawling back to me when you can't figure out what to do while you wait." There was the sound of a slap, and then Ges heard footsteps running towards him.

An incredibly tall, incredibly ugly teenager dressed in near-rags came shooting out of the alleyway. This one had had a hard life, Ges could tell. The red mark from the palm that had slapped him still showed on his narrow face. But that brief conversation with his Ma had told Ges that the boy had fight in him. He called out softly, "Boy, stop."

"What do you want?" The boy eyed Ges suspiciously and bounced back and forth from one foot to the other. Ges saw that the boy was barefoot, even though the sidewalk and the streets were covered with dirty ice and snow. 

"I couldn't help but overhear you arguing with your mother..."

"I'm not for sale," the boy spat. He took a few steps back from Ges.

"I know. That's not what I stopped you for anyway." Definitely not. The kid was taller than Ges by at least a fifth of a meter, and although still in the stringy phase of adolescence, looked like he could pound Ges to a pulp if he wanted to. Ges asked, "What's your name?" 

"Konstantine. And yours?" As he asked this, he settled slightly, and Ges thought there might be a chance that they could get through a few more exchanges before the boy bolted. 

"Ges." No surnames, but that wasn't the point. "OK, Konstantine. You want into the Service?"

The boy was eying Ges's uniform with a mixture of envy and fear. "Yeah. But Ma's right; I'm only just sixteen and they won't take me til I'm eighteen." His voice was despairing. "Someone'll probably stick me with a knife before then. Or I'll freeze to death." 

"You sound like you're searching for your lost honor. The Service will help you find it." Ges had a moment's heartache. _That's something Aral would have said._ He was already thinking of Aral in the past tense. The boy's eyes widened, and Ges could feel him coming round. "Look, here's what you do. In the morning, you go down to Recruiting, the main office right by Vorhartung Castle. Ask for Captain Pattas, tell him Ges Vorrutyer sent you, he says they want you as a soldier. Someone will fix the age problem if you're dumb enough to tell them the truth. Better that you don't."

"So you are a Vor. I don't like Vors."

Ges ignored this challenge. "It doesn't matter, if you want to be in the Service. They'll take boys with a good fight in them, get that all worked out." Ges hoped that the boy wouldn't ever end up as one of his subordinates, nonetheless. Caravanserai kids were wild and unpredictable, and the Service couldn't beat their upbringing out of them. Nonetheless, battle-experienced officers, if they valued their survival, always requested a sprinkling of soldiers from the Caravanserai through the ranks. If one could keep them under a modicum of control, they were unequaled in battle. Something about young Konstantine suggested he might be one of the salvageable ones.

The boy stole another quick glance at Ges's uniform and ran off, without a "thank you," but Ges hadn't really expected it.

This encounter unsettled Ges. He knew there were men who paid to have sex with boys, but to actually meet one of those boys brought home just how sickening it was. He wondered how young Konstantine had been, the first time his Ma sold him.

Ges wandered on, back to Vorrutyer House, and stopped in the garden. It had been perhaps an hour since he'd left; the sun was setting and the evening was taking on enough of a chill that Ges wanted to go inside. Instead, he hunched into his Service-issue greatcoat, happy for its bulk and warmth. He needed to think over how to approach his sister, how to convince her that she could trust him to help her find her way again. As he sat, he remembered encountering Jonas Vorwyn there, remembered his fear at Ges discovering him. And now Jonas was dead, and he didn't deserve that, even if he was an idiot.

He looked up. There was motion in his sister's room, and he recognized her as she came over to the window. It was too dark to see her clearly, but Ges could imagine what she might look like, after the fight with Aral, and then the fight with him. Blotchy-faced, red-eyed, spent. He pushed that image out of his mind by seeing her in all her glory, beautiful, ecstatic, loved. _Bound..._ He ached with desire for her.

She moved away from the window, and there was a blinding flash. The curtains in her room went up in flames as the plate glass blew out of its frame. Ges felt something warm on his face, put his hand up, and took it away bloody.

He ran into the house through a side door. The alarms were blaring; the municipal fire department would come to save the house if needed. The foyer was abandoned, the main door of the house wide open. Ges rushed up the stairs to Aral's and his sister's suite. The outer door had been hacked apart and he could hear shouts coming from within.

Fresh horror awaited him. The Armsmen had quickly put out the fire in the bedroom, but one of the maids lay dead. Miss Elisa cradled his sister's body, with the beautiful face burned entirely away, in her arms. Ges had to close his eyes for a moment and swallow his nausea.

"Plasma arc, Lord Ges. Such a terrible way to die, I'm so sorry," Armsman Ruben said. He indicated a standard Service-Issue weapon -- Aral's -- thrown aside on the floor. "We're lucky she didn't set the whole house afire." The man offered Ges a handkerchief for his bloodied face.

"How did it happen?" The pain hit Ges suddenly, just above his right eye, like a searing hot iron, along with a much deeper, non-physical pain. He feared that he would weep.

"Suicide. The maids said she was so heartsick after the fight with Lord Vorkosigan.... when he told her about the deaths..."

_And confirmed the sham and betrayal of her marriage._ "Are you sure? Could someone have done it to her?" Ges knew his sister might have been despondent enough to kill herself -- but with a plasma arc? He remembered Count Piotr Vorkosigan's frown, from the party two nights before; no doubt the Count had good reason to feel outraged at the insult to his honor his daughter-in-law's affairs presented. And Miss Elisa was so very, very calm... _But there's no way we could ever prove that the old fox ordered it..._

"Who would?" Ruben asked, shocked. "We all loved her, and hoped she'd find a way out of her marr--- her troubles. It didn't matter to us that things had gone so wrong...." The Armsman's kindness, and utter lack of judgment, was comforting to Ges. 

"Look, Lord Vorkosigan is...' _As good as dead._ "He said he was going back to his ship. Someone needs to inform him; it might as well be me." Ges turned away from the grisly tableau and headed into the sitting room to use its comconsole.

After several failed attempts to reach Aral, Ges finally called Count Piotr. His voice trembled as he said, "I can't reach Aral. Do you know where he is?"

"Your house, last I heard." Piotr's tone was very cool.

"They had a fight, and he's ... he's gone, Sir. My sister ... Aral's wife ... she's dead." A shadow crossed Piotr's face, causing Ges to hastily add, "He was gone before it happened."

Piotr's expression was steady, but he growled, "A good end to that filthy little .... slut." He looked like he was biting back more, and Ges, not wanting a fight, cut the com. He was shaking.

As he sat back, the adrenaline started to clear and it hit him. _She's dead._

 

Ges wondered if he was still dreaming. He heard a door open, a soft _"Thank you"_ said to someone outside it, a door close. Then a few heavy footsteps that seemed to radiate grief. One boot dropped on the floor, then another. More footsteps, quieter without the boots but still laden... Sounds of clothing being removed and tossed aside.

He decided that he wasn't dreaming when he felt the weight of someone sitting heavily at the end of the bed and sighing. There was a hand on his leg, a familiar squeeze. "Ges?" The voice matched the footsteps in its pain.

He opened his eyes. There was a little light from outside coming through the heavy curtains, from the same moons that had illuminated his sister's loveliness just two nights before. Her heart-shaped face and the beauty of her exposed body hovered in his consciousness until it was replaced by something infinitely weary and far less beautiful -- but equally loved. "Aral."

"Yes. I have nothing left but you."

"I'm sorry." Ges hated, once again, how his apologies always sounded so weak. But maybe there were just no words strong enough anymore, to cover this much destruction and pain. "I thought... I thought you'd been arrested by now."

"It appears that no one will believe I did it. I could go tell Emperor Ezar himself, and he wouldn't believe me. I didn't mean to arrange it like that, so it would look like Vortorren and Vorwyn had killed each other." A forced breath. "I intended for this to be my death. Salvage a bit of my reputation for the-Count-my-father's sake."

"I'm glad you're still here."

"I'm not. But ... look, we can talk in the morning." Aral shifted his weight, and then pushed aside the blankets and slowly stretched out beside Ges. Ges hadn't known that a man with a face that looked as devastated as Aral's could possibly be alive.

Then he remembered the other casualty. "You saw...?" He was starting to choke up.

"Yes. Laid out downstairs. I won't ever forget her face. Her eyes. Just like yours." Aral used a finger to track one of Ges's nascent tears as it ran down his face.

Ges wept. Aral just held him, saying nothing. It seemed like hours until he stopped, breathless and in unbearable pain. As he drifted into sleep, Ges was thinking that before now, it had always been Aral who'd cried.

 

In the morning, Ges was disoriented for a moment by the warm body wrapped around him. He blinked a few times. _Aral._

"You're awake. Good." Aral gifted him with a tiny smile that disappeared almost immediately. "I need to ask you something."

"Hm? Wha...." Ges mumbled muzzily.

"When I came in last night.... you told me you thought I'd been arrested."

Ges was`starting to remember now. "Yes, for killing Andros Vortorren and Jonas Vorwyn."

"No one else believes that I did it, but you just knew. Why?"

"I guessed on my own; I knew Vortorren pretty well from the party scene, and he was no duelist." Aral nodded, and then was lost in a memory. Ges continued, "And I heard you tell her, later. Before you left, before she died."

Aral bit down hard on his lip and worried it.

"Look... I need to explain something. It's, um, kind of embarrassing." Ges gulped; his mouth was dry. "There's a hiding place, in the closet between my room and... yours. Yesterday, when I got sent home, what the Armsman told me about your fighting sounded so bad that I was worried you might hurt h... hurt each other, so I hid in there. I saw ... I saw everything. And heard what you said to her about the duels."

When Aral didn't ask him what else he might have seen, Ges was thankful for Aral's lack of imagination. "So you could corroborate my story, since everyone thinks I am just overcome with grief and saying crazy things." Ges picked up the note of hope in Aral's voice, and shuddered. It would have been better to be questioned about his voyeurism than to be seen as a deathwish's tool.

"I won't tell anyone unless you ask me to. Aral... please, though, think about it. Your father needs you alive. So ... so do I."

"Oh." Aral paused. "And me, what do I need?"

Ges had to think for a moment. "You need to stick around, OK? To be loved for who you really are. To grieve with my family, which is so much your family, too." He'd always thought that Aral, with his deep, sensitive nature, was as much a Vorrutyer as a Vorkosigan. And Aral had a Vorrutyer grandmother. "To go on. To heal, eventually. At least, try to. If you still want to kill yourself later on, there are better ways than this."

"I haven't reached a decision about that yet." 

"Let me know if you do." Ges pulled Aral into a hard embrace, no sort of a come-on at all, just a life preserver for a man drowning in sorrow. 

 

That afternoon, they accompanied Ges's sister's body to the Vorrutyer District. It started snowing just as they were leaving Vorbarr Sultana, and within an hour or so they could barely see out the windows of their groundcar, and Ruben, who was driving, was having problems keeping sight of the groundcar ahead of them that bore the body. Aral leaned against Ges, drifting in and out of a doze. When he was awake, he wouldn't look Ges in the eye, and he remained silent, but he never broke physical contact with Ges. Eventually, he fell into a deeper sleep, snuggled against Ges's shoulder and with one arm thrown heavily across Ges's torso. There was a bit of hurt little boy in Aral's face.

Ges brooded rather than sleeping. There was obviously no triumph in Aral's return to him, and there was something tentative and uncertain about it. Ges had never felt any shame over his love for Aral, but he knew that the reverse was not true. With the weight of his father's expectations on him, and a more conservative nature than Ges had to start with, Aral couldn't give everything over to him. In their Academy days, they'd been sheltered in a sense, with no true options but loneliness. Whatever innocent delight they'd found in each other was irretrievable, especially now that they'd left a death, no, three deaths, in their wake.

Their arrival at the District House was somber and quiet. A few servants stood waiting, and one of the maids, who had been a favorite of Ges's sister, wept silently as the body was unloaded and taken into the house. The Armsman who met them told them that the Count wished to speak with them, but they should get settled in their rooms and have some dinner first. Aral seemed even more deeply withdrawn into himself, barely acknowledging the people around him. He leaned on Ges, his eyes downcast, as they made their way to the two room suite that Ges and his sister had shared as children.

Ges helped Aral out of his coat, and settled him into a comfortable chair near the fireplace in what had been his sister's room. The old house was dark and cold in the winter; the fire a necessity, not some quaint relic. Aral's ongoing silence was becoming very disturbing. 

When Ges turned to go into his room, Aral finally spoke. "Don't go just yet." It sounded like a casual request, but Ges knew it wasn't.

"I just want to hang up my coat. I'll come right back."

"No. Please, stay here." This sounded like a cross between a command and a plea. Aral stared into the fire, and took a poker and pushed it into the logs. When he took it out, it glowed red. He held it up and twirled it idly in his hands. "I... Ges, you asked me to tell you if I made up my mind about dying. I haven't, but I'm close enough that... maybe you shouldn't leave me."

Ges took this warning and rolled it over in his mind. Oddly, he didn't panic; in fact, he'd expected it. A suicide watch. He started to contemplate what would happen if he fell asleep tonight before Aral did, and then thought better of worrying himself over what might happen, when what was happening was almost too much to bear already. And there was the funeral offering to worry over in the morning...

Armsman Ruben appeared with their dinner on a tray, a thick soup, good bread, and cider in mugs. Ges was grasping for some way to return a veneer of normality to the situation. "You refused breakfast, you really should eat something, Aral."

"I suppose," Aral said. He had put down the poker and had an arm over his stomach, and Ges realized that Aral's pain wasn't just psychological.

"Your gut?" 

"Yes." The sound of Aral's voice made Ges look up. That pale face meant nothing good, but hopefully not anything as bad as a bleeding ulcer. Aral needed the doctors at ImpMil, but not while his mental state was like this. The newly-installed psychiatric specialists, trained off-planet... who knew what they'd make of him?

With courage born of both need and prior experience with Aral's testy digestive system, Ges said, "This soup will go down easily right now, don't you think?"

"It's quite similar to what we served in the city house, gently flavored as you like it, Lord Vorkosigan," Ruben interjected. He then drew Ges aside first and asked if a doctor should be called. 

"No, but I'll request one if Lord Vorkosigan's pain does not recede," Ges replied. The Armsman nodded and retreated, correctly interpreting Ges's words as a request for privacy.

Aral didn't eat. He pushed a spoon around the bland soup, and then let go of it and sat very still. Ges, for his part, was famished, and forced down bread and soup until Aral's blankness was too much to bear.

He went down on one knee before Aral and reached up to catch Aral's face in his hands. "You need to eat," he said. "Um, this may sound a bit silly, but would it help if I fed you?"

Miraculously, Aral nodded, a tiny yes to match the tiny glimmer of life in his eyes. So Ges carefully spooned soup into his mouth. It seemed an intimate gesture, possibly more intimate than anything they'd ever done sexually, and just as powerful but far more wrenching. With each spoonful, Ges thought _Please live._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It seemed to Ges that each breath Aral took restored him to the living. There would be more pain, Ges had no doubt of it, but this brief moment seemed so normal, and they both needed a respite of normal, at least for a little while._
> 
>  
> 
> Content: A funeral, bracketed by two very important conversations. And Aral being rigid and suicidal.
> 
> Warnings: Serious angst, language, one sex scene.

At Ges's knock, Count Vorrutyer called him and Aral into his room. The Count spent most of his time in bed now, although on doctor's orders he dragged himself out for a constitutional stroll at least once a day. Even if he only got as far as the kitchen, the doctor had told Ges and his siblings that as long as their father walked a little bit each day, he would not become bedbound.

Not surprisingly, Count Vorrutyer was grieving over his daughter's death as much as Ges and Aral were. Ges went to the bedside and gave his father a quick, one-armed hug, and then stepped back beside Aral. "So. My boys," the Count said. He made a gesture that encircled them as if they were both his sons.

"Sir," Ges replied. Aral echoed him in a much more subdued voice.

"I think we each need condolences, father, brother, and husband. This is ..." Count Vorrutyer paused for a moment. "I am not yet able to think of her as... gone."

Before they could continue, a second knock at the door brought the arrival of a pair of Vorbarra Armsmen, and then Aral's grandfather Prince Xav Vorbarra. He'd become a legendary figure on Barrayar, for planning and executing his half-brother Emperor Mad Yuri's demise, and then not taking the throne for himself. Of course, some looked down on him for being a superbly skilled interplanetary diplomat rather than a military leader, the same ones who said that his Betan wife controlled him, and had made him refuse the throne. Or that he'd refused to divorce her in order to become Emperor. When his critics consumed enough alcohol, they just called him _"pussy-whipped."_ Prince Xav himself didn't care what they said about him, sober or drunk. 

"Your Highness. Xav. I am glad you could make it," Ges's father said. He gestured outside, towards the snowstorm that had turned into a raging blizzard.

"It's just snow. And I need to be here." The Prince strode over to Aral and embraced him. It was a much more sure gesture than what Ges had done with his father; but then, the Prince, when he wanted to, radiated _this needs to be done_ better than anyone. Ges could imagine how the Prince had convinced a small cadre of men to turn on Mad Emperor Yuri, that it was worth putting their battered world through yet another war to rid themselves of the rot at the top of their beloved Imperium. Xav had called on Piotr Vorkosigan -- who was more than adequately motivated, having just lost his wife and all the rest of his family except for his overlooked and undervalued younger son to Yuri's goons -- for strategy and military order, but Xav had not needed anyone's help to supply motivation.

Ges watched the concern in the Prince's face, a mirror of the concern in his own father's expression. When the Prince let go, he kept his hands on Aral's shoulders.

Rather stiffly, as if he didn't really care what the answer would be, Aral asked, "So you are here as a representative of the family?"

"No. I am here as your grandfather. Your grandmother sends her love; she didn't feel up to traveling in this awful weather. Your father...."

"He's probably happy about it," Aral said bitterly.

"No, he's not. I spoke to him just this morning, and would say that perhaps he's... relieved that your wife is dead, but he finds the circumstances quite distressing. He kept asking me, _'What happens now?'_ "

Count Vorrutyer said, "I suppose you mean between my son and your grandson."

"Certainly that's part of it. It's a difficulty his upbringing gives him no way to address. None of our upbringings do, really." The Prince and the Count exchanged a meaningful look as the Prince released Aral to stand beside Ges once again.

Now it was Ges's turn. He addressed both older men, heart in his throat. "So what will you do?"

Prince Xav replied first. "Given your, ah, situation, if I could, I'd ship you off-planet -- together. We can have a longer talk about it later, but for now, just know that the most shameful thing here is the personal disaster you both have caused through your dishonesty." Count Vorrutyer nodded his agreement.

Aral looked astonished as he spat out, "So you don't care that we're .... corrupt?"

"I care only because I don't wish there to be any more deaths." Count Vorrutyer's voice was wrought with grief. "I've had enough. I should like this to be the last funeral offering I see lit in my lifetime," the Count said. 

Aral's face was set in a deep frown, and Ges grasped for ways to redirect the conversation away from anything about the two of them. "So who will be lighting the offering?" Ges asked, as casually as he could. He wanted to, and in a sense felt he should, because his sister had stayed closer to him than she ever had become to her husband. But it was Aral's right...

"Aral, of course. It is his place."

Aral exploded in anger, "No! I will not, it's perverse. I killed her; I don't deserve to even be here!" Before any of them could stop him, he wheeled and ran from the room.

Ges hesitated, unsure of what to do. _Go to him. Stop him from..._ Just as he was turning to the door, Prince Xav asked, "Did Aral actually kill her?"

"I, um, heard them fight. It was... they said terrible things to each other. I think there was no winner. Scorched earth, destroy the enemy as he -- or she -- destroys you. But she was still alive when he left. So he didn't fire that damn plasma arc, no. But he left it there to be used..." Ges stopped, torn between telling Prince Xav of his suspicions about Count Piotr's role in the death and just saying that she'd killed herself. He found a way to sidestep that issue. "I think... he may have killed her with his words. Made her not care if she lived or died, I mean."

Something dark -- Ges couldn't tell what, and really didn't want to know -- passed through the Prince's face. Ges was drawn back to the immediate crisis, and doing whatever he needed to do keep Aral alive. "Sir, Your Highness, please, may I?" He indicated the door.

The Count shooed him away. "Go after him, boy. We've had our fill of death. If he still refuses in the morning, the duty will fall to you, as her favored sibling."

Ges found Aral staring into the fire in his rooms. He approached carefully, so as not to startle Aral, and settled into the other chair.

After a long while, Aral said, "So."

"So what?"

"I can't believe... no. I can't believe they'd tell me to act like this is just an ordinary Vorish death."

"Um, not exactly. If anyone understands just how not-ordinary this is, it's them. But lighting the offering is your role."

"But... but I killed her! Or caused her to kill herself, or ... something." Aral's voice trailed off into quiet fear.

"Something?"

Aral ran his fingers along the cut on Ges's forehead. A tender, desirous gesture, normally, but not now. "You saw her die."

"Well, from outside, in the garden. I saw the plasma arc fired. Don't know by whom, though."

"What ... do ... you ... mean?" Every word was filled with dread.

"Aral, was it your father? Did he arrange something?" Ges blurted out. Now he had a reasonable idea about what the Prince might have been thinking, just minutes before.

"I'm ... I'm not sure. I think he wanted to, no, I know it, based on that last conversation we had, before I killed her lovers. Said she was a blot on the family honor, that he felt like he'd been set-up. Never mind me being set up. I think he's ashamed by letting such a huge tactical mistake happen."

"So even your marriage was part of his war."

"Of course. Everything he does is calculated within a matrix of Barrayaran politics. I am sure that ... if he set up her death, it was only to serve Barrayar."

Now Ges felt sick, just thinking that what he'd feared might be true. "Would you ever ask him if he did it?"

"N-no. What would I do if he said yes?"

"Let it go?"

"God no!" Aral was furious again. "My duty would be to kill him. My own father. How many deaths does this thing need to be sated? Four, five, ten? The marriage was... it was such a disaster. But no one should die because their marriage is broken beyond repair! And I still loved her..."

"Really?"

"Really. Still. Almost..." The words came so quietly that Ges could barely hear them, but no one could have overlooked the tears in Aral's eyes. "Almost as much as I love you. The both of you. I didn't just love her because she reminded me of you, you know." 

"Then, please, will you light her offering?"

"I just can't. Ges, you knew everything she was doing, and you loved her anyway. I had to try to push her into some box, what I believe is the correct definition of 'wife.'"

"Aral, it's what your father is doing to you."

"I know. His love is conditional. 'Replace your brother.'" No doubt this was a direct quote from Piotr, and it made Ges shiver, as Aral continued, "Mine towards her was conditional too. Conditional on her being useful to me. 'Make me look good.'" He gestured towards Ges. "And, I'll admit, 'Provide me cover for my vices.' Does it please you to know that I was going to succumb?"

"Not at this cost." Ges silently cursed Piotr Vorkosigan for scaring him into making his proposal to Aral before he'd really figured out how to do it. If he'd only known that Aral was so close to giving in...

"If I hadn't loved her that way..."

"You'd likely be the laughingstock of Vorbarr Sultana."

"I probably already am. And frankly, I don't care. Don't care what they think. Not anymore."

This was a frightening train of thought. Aral had always cared, had always worked so hard for approval... And now he sounded like he'd just given up. "Maybe. I'll believe you when you still don't care six months from now. In the meantime... no one is going to make you be the torchbearer tomorrow. You don't even have to show up, though it would look strange if you didn't. But would you at least give something for the offering?"

In response, Aral drew the jeweled knife from his boot, and Ges almost rushed to seize it from him until he saw that Aral was, in fact, using it to saw a bit of hair from his scalp. He then handed the knife to Ges, who did the same, all the while wondering what it was about the knife that was bothering him. He remembered. _Right. He used it to cut the lacing on her wedding dress, to do something so seemingly harmless, but still fraught with meaning. Just like this._ He wasn't superstitious, really, but he wondered if the knife carried some sort of malignant spell -- and also, why the hell Aral was so attached to it.

Aral drew a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to Ges. "Here. Put your hair here, with mine."

Wordlessly, Ges did just that. The symbolism -- the two of them sharing responsibility for the death -- was reflected in their mingled hair.

\---------------------------------

It was bitterly cold the next morning, with the sun providing no warmth at all, just a blinding glitter off the ice that coated Vorrutyer House's outside walls and the fixtures. Thankfully, the previous night's wind was gone; the slightest breeze would have chilled the air to nearly-unbearable temperatures. Ges's sister was laid out in her wedding gown -- the lacing Aral had cut through now replaced -- in a simple, open coffin. He remembered how she'd used the cut of the gown so flirtatiously with him, how perfectly reasonable it seemed, at the time, for such a beautiful young woman to be so very sexy on her wedding day. Someone, mercifully, had covered her destroyed face with a cloth -- no, an embroidered infant's gown, unused, perhaps saved for the naming ceremony of a child who would now never be born.

Aral was at Ges's left, distant and closed. Ges was just relieved that Aral had decided to show up, after the previous night's troubles, although it was obvious he was still very conflicted. Perhaps the night spent wrapped in Ges's arms had helped. On Ges's right, Count Vorrutyer leaned on his cane, occasionally dabbing tears from his face. Ges's two little brothers stood solemnly next to the Count, Patrice in his Imperial Service Academy uniform, which brought up memories of their mother's funeral, and the younger Yves in a slightly-too-large black mourning suit that was obviously a hand-me-down rustled up for this sad occasion. The oldest brother, the Count's heir Bayard, had not been able to get away from his military mission, though he'd sent a long, thoughtful message. Prince Xav, gaunt and pale, stayed close by Aral, as silent as his grandson, if much more present.

Ges and this little group bore witness as his sister's coffin was closed and lowered into the grave. The mourners took turns using shovels to return the pile of excavated dirt to cover the coffin; nearly everyone wept, loudly or quietly. Ges's younger brothers in particular seemed devastated by the process, as if it took seeing the grave being filled for them to believe that their beloved, spirited sister was dead. A few sturdy workmen, no less grieving than anyone else, piled logs on the grave once it was closed. This was a winter tradition in Vorrutyer District, a bonfire rather than the summer's small brazier, to warm the dead one's soul. Then the family watched as the other assembled mourners placed their offerings amongst the logs. Most gave locks of hair, but there was the occasional surprise -- a book of Escobaran poetry from Jonas Vorwyn's younger sister, here because she was too estranged from the rest of the Vorwyn family to attend her brother's own funeral, a battered toy bear from a childhood friend, a couple of his sister's favorite pastries offered by the District House's cook. For all that Ges's sister had died in disgrace, it was clear that she had lived surrounded by love. Prince Xav drew from a pocket a small bouquet, no doubt obtained at enormous cost in this bitter season, and placed it at the top of the pile. Ges was next, and he sprinkled the hair from the night before, his and Aral's together, over the bouquet. 

As he stepped back, he was shocked to feel Aral slip an arm around his shoulders. He didn't dare look at Aral. But he placed his arm around Aral in return; his father, seeing this, gave them a grave nod before adding his own offering, the usual clipping of hair plus a small fabric purse and a pretty lace hat that had belonged to the Countess until Ges's sister, all of five or six years old at the time, had claimed them for her dress-up stash.

An Armsman brought a torch to the Count, who handed it to Ges. When Ges made to step forward to light the bonfire, and thus disengage from Aral, Aral placed his free hand over Ges's on the torch and turned to face him. What was in those eyes? Sorrow, certainly. Perhaps a bit of anger, still. But mostly the same as Ges had seen for the past day and a half, the eyes of a man drowning, yet reaching to be saved. _"Live for me,"_ Ges mouthed silently. Aral didn't hesitate as they went forward together and touched the torch to the bouquet Prince Xav had given.

But Aral's reserve cracked as the flames went up. To Ges's horror, he resisted stepping back, and Ges tightened his grip on Aral's arm, although he knew that Aral could get loose and throw himself on the conflagration easily enough. _Please, you didn't do this to trick me._ Aral was just starting to twist away from Ges when his grandfather stepped up and helped restrain him. "Enough death, boy." he whispered. For an elderly, slightly built man, Prince Xav was incredibly strong. They were quickly joined by a Vorbarra Armsman. 

Three against one was apparently more than Aral felt up to, or maybe it was just who those three were -- his grandfather, an experienced former soldier, and ... Ges didn't know what he was to Aral, anymore, besides important. Aral let out a huge sigh and gave up all resistance, going limp so quickly that they barely managed to keep him upright. Ges and Prince Xav crossed their arms around Aral's back and held him as the other mourners gradually filed away, until the flames were gone.

When it was over, Prince Xav and Ges took Aral back into the house and up to his room. They got Aral to remove his boots and lay out on the bed. They put a couple of quilts over him, and then Xav motioned Ges into the next room.

"I'm very worried about him," the Prince said.

"As am I, Your Highness."

"Xav, please. I am just Xav, to my family. Are you going to stay with him?"

"Of course! I won't let him out of my sight, I promise."

"That is good. Now, see if you can get him to sleep, and while you're at it, do the same for yourself. Your father and I would like to speak to both of you, privately, before dinner." The old man drew in a sharp, pained breath. "I cannot afford to lose him. Two grandsons. Aral and Padma. You know that is all that's left to carry my family forward now, and it seems I am _this_ close to having only Padma left."

"I know, Your... Xav."

As Ges turned to enter his own room, the Prince stopped him and turned him towards Aral's room. "No, in there," he said.

Ges was left standing, boggled, in the doorway. Barrayaran men weren't supposed to be like this. Sure, there was a lot of looking the other way, in regard to teenage schoolboys and even young soldiers in settings where there were no women to be had. But it was mostly just pretending that certain things were not happening, never speaking of them, and always encouraging boys towards "manliness," meaning that if one fell to the temptation of one's fellows, a woman should be sought as a replacement for them as quickly as possible. Yet here were two senior men -- Prince Xav Vorbarra was the second or third most powerful man on the planet, and Ges's father wasn't far behind him -- treating their scions' relationship with such tenderness, not encouraging it exactly, but not interfering either. Even Armsman Ruben, solidly guarding the outer door, seemed to be on their side.

When he returned to Aral's bed, he found Aral's clothing in a heap on the floor. Aral was asleep, deeply enough that when Ges stripped and climbed into the big bed next to him, he only murmured something in an undertone and threw an arm over Ges. Within minutes, Ges was also asleep.

\-----------------------------------------

Ges awoke with a start. He was on his side with one leg thrown forward, and Aral's hand behind him was taking advantage of his openness. _So unexpected._ He lay still, not wanting to interrupt what Aral was doing, letting himself relax into it. Aral's lips moved softly on his shoulder blades, and each kiss felt like sparks on Ges's skin. The hand moved around to Ges's chest and played along there, while also pulling Ges's hips in closer. _Oh._ Ges caught Aral's hand for a moment and gave it a squeeze. And then it pulled free and moved down. _Oh._ No words. Just lovely sensations, easy to go with. It had been too long...

When they were done, Aral pulled Ges around to face him. He didn't look so much like warmed-over death now; in fact, he was smiling shyly. Ges had nearly forgotten how much Aral's smile captivated him.

"Welcome back," Ges whispered. _Welcome back, my love._

Aral said nothing in return, but buried his head in Ges's chest and breathed slowly and easily. It seemed to Ges that each breath Aral took restored him to the living. There would be more pain, Ges had no doubt of it, but this brief moment seemed so normal, and they both needed a respite of normal, at least for a little while.

\--------------------------------------------

In the evening, they returned to the Count's bedroom. Prince Xav stood at the Count's bedside, grave and silent. The Count himself looked exhausted, yet another reason for _no more deaths._ Ges was feeling somewhat daring, so he kept an arm around Aral's waist. Neither of the older men seemed the slightest bit put out by this. _Why?_

"We should get right to the point," Xav said. 

The Count followed, "I suppose it won't surprise you that we're very disappointed at the results of your scheme."

Both Aral's and Ges's heads snapped up. "Scheme, Sir?" Aral asked.

Ges knew what his father was talking about, and he needed to clear Aral's name. "If there's a scheme here, it was mine. My idea, though Aral probably guessed what I intended."

"You know, I'd figured it out -- about the two of you -- before you ever approached me about matching Aral with your sister," the Count said.

Ges remembered the conversation they'd had. It seemed like another lifetime, though it had happened less than two years ago. "You made that obvious to me when I first brought it up, Sir."

"You put me in a dilemma. Turn the idea down, leaving you both to God-knows-what, or go along with it and hope that marriage would be a... cure. Perhaps I fell back on the old rules. That the best way to break up a pair of boys was to give one of them a girl. I'd seen it work before. Yet at the same time, I felt conflicted... It seemed too much like I was using her to solve a problem."

"I think you did the right thing, Sir," Aral said. It was the most determined, resolute statement Ges had heard Aral say since the death. "It is better for men to be with women, and women with men."

Ges turned and grabbed Aral by the shoulders and shook him, hard. "You.... you think that? Then what the _fuck_ do you think you were doing with me earlier?" Aral's hypocrisy infuriated him so much that he didn't care that his father and Aral's grandfather were there. They, in turn, by their nearly-matching, deep frowns, seemed to know exactly what Ges was implying.

Aral started to reply, but Prince Xav interrupted. "Aral, it seems you are contradicting yourself." He said it so calmly, as if it were a random observation of truth, not an accusation. But Aral still reddened and spluttered an epithet. The Prince went on. "I have thought long and hard on these... issues myself, and I have come to see things differently. This cursed planet won't modernize in my lifetime, but it might in yours -- if you and the rest of the future power structure let it. Would you really want to see your own son go through what you and Ges have?"

Aral looked shaken. "No... no, Grandfather. But I would have stopped it sooner."

"That's not what I mean. You think you can control the young, just like you think you can control yourself. Resolutely choose who you -- and others -- love, and turn away from anything or anyone you have learned to define as a wrong choice. Tell me, is it so easy?"

"You can't even control yourself," Ges said quietly. 

Aral didn't reply to either of them. He seemed lost in some internal struggle, and Ges was fairly sure that the side Aral thought he should take was not the side that was winning. Then Xav made a "go on" gesture to Ges's father. 

"I am old, and I just sacrificed my only daughter to beliefs like yours, Aral." There was something hard and firm in the Count's voice, something Ges had not heard from his father in years. _Anger. Twenty years ago, you would have beaten Aral so badly for this that he would have been in bed for a week. But now, you only have words._

The old man coughed a few times, almost spoiling his fury. But when he continued, it was clear he had Aral's complete attention. "You loved my daughter to the best of your abilities. But boy, you love soldiers more. Well, one soldier, my son, in particular. At the very least, promise me that you won't marry again. That you won't destroy some other man's daughter for your precious principles." The Count's voice had hardened into steel.

Aral was looking at the Count like he was crazy. He started to pull away from Ges, but when Prince Xav said, "Aral, stay," it was as if Aral had been given a paralyzing drug.

"But, but...." Aral stammered. The Count glared at him. Long ago, Ges knew, his father had been a ruthless enemy to the Cetagandans. The old warrior's tools may have been long-disused, but they were not forgotten.

Aral folded, and not out of misbegotten sympathy for his elders. He was _scared._ "I... It was wrong for me to use her like I did. I won't do it again," he stammered out, "but maybe a lady soldier would solve this... difficulty I have."

Prince Xav raised an eyebrow at Count Vorrutyer, who seemed unsure about Aral's codicil. They took a moment for a quiet consultation that was clearly meant for Ges and Aral to overhear.

"You're asking him to leave Count Vorkosigan without an heir, you know."

"I don't care one whit about whether Piotr Vorkosigan has an heir. I subscribed to his attitudes, not letting my better judgment take hold, and it got me ... my daughter killed. One way or another."

Ges realized then that he was not the only one who thought Piotr Vorkosigan might have had a hand in his sister's death. And Xav did not look shocked, so perhaps he too suspected Piotr... Ges remembered Aral's words: _"What would I do if he said yes, he did it?"_ It was likely they all shared that question, and the consequences, if Piotr did claim responsibility, would be impossible to manage -- so they likely all wanted it to remain unanswered.

"And if he finds his lady soldier?" Xav asked.

"Ha. You think it's possible?"

"Among our enemies, perhaps. Outside the Imperium, there are planets that allow their best and brightest women to serve, right beside the men. Escobar. Beta. And others. And he deserves to carry that hope with him," Xav murmured.

"And you married a Betan, after all, and somehow we still see you as a hero, not a traitor. I see your point." 

Count Vorrutyer then summoned a servant, who brought drinks and some savory pastries. The strategy session, as Ges now realized it had been, was over. After that, the conversation was less somber, almost lighthearted. They mostly shared memories of Ges's sister, her birth and childhood from her father, descriptions of her cleverness from Ges, her beauty and spark from Aral. It seemed that she'd even made an impression on Prince Xav, though he'd only met her two or three times. Just before dinner, Xav and Aral left the room together, perhaps for a more private talk. Ges was just relieved to have a break from the exhausting task of being on Aral's suicide watch. 

He helped his father out of bed, and handed him his cane. Then he asked, "So, father, you know about these problems among men from personal experience?"

"No. Or rather, not in the way you're thinking of. I've always loved women. But I've sat back and watched young men destroy themselves over this question, and I've grown weary of it." He paused. "Just in the family, my brother, my youngest uncle, a cousin or two."

Ges remembered the Count's brother, his uncle, a brooding man who rarely spoke, even to his own wife and children. And he remembered that his uncle had died in a lightflyer crash with another man, and that there had been more than a little evil gossip over it. 

"I should add," the Count continued, "that the views I've shared with you this evening are strictly private. Xav wants Barrayar to change, to become more moderate like, say, Escobar, but he also keeps his efforts subdued. The change cannot happen quickly, because we've got honor flowing in our veins, and suddenly loosening the standards we aspire to would be like setting a finely-trained, stabled horse free in an endless plain to gallop to and fro until it ruins itself."

 _And Aral's flailing is just like that._ In a way, Ges matched his father's public conservatism, and accepted the strictures of Barrayaran society, at least the proper public forms. With Aral, he did struggle sometimes over how hidden they should be, but there was a line that could not be crossed, for fear of making a public statement out of a private affair. His sister had been careless about such boundaries, and look what had happened to her.

It now seemed wrong that he'd come to think of his father as weak. Yes, the Count was old, and sick -- but he'd led a hard life, and the poisons of the Cetagandans' weapons were likely catching up with him, just as they had with all those old veterans for whose funerals Ges had arranged honor guards. But this old man, who leaned heavily on his cane when he could even get out of bed, a man very much in mind of his own mortality, did not always let his physical ailments define him. He was shrewd and capable still.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _It was their last night together for ... who knew how long. At dinner, they cracked a bottle of the best Vorkosigan red wine, supplied by Aral's father in a happier time. It reminded Ges of his sister, of everything that had happened, and how much of it was his own fault. He didn't really think it was worth it, just to have Aral back._
> 
> Content: The remaining days of Ges and Aral's bereavement leave. Is Aral ready to return to duty? 
> 
> Warnings: Kink, sex, violence

The next morning, Ges and Aral got a lift back to Vorbarr Sultana from Prince Xav. Even if it was in the most heavily armored groundcar Ges had ever encountered, as befit Xav's royal status, the past two days had shown Ges that Xav was, after all, a man much like any other, willing to provide his junior relatives with a needed ride. "Family," as the Prince himself had put it.

Ges hadn't known that his father and the Prince were close, but over brandies after dinner the night before, the two older men had traded tales about events they'd both witnessed and old friends they'd shared. They avoided any talk of the civil war Xav had orchestrated, out of sensitivity to Aral's central role in the conflict. 

Ges also learned that Prince Xav had rather seriously courted one of his aunts, with his father's full support, before he had had taken to interplanetary diplomacy and met his Betan wife. The aunt in question had always been quietly rebellious, so Ges could understand why Xav might have been attracted to her personality -- and even in late middle age, after two marriages and six surviving children, she was remarkably good looking. But it was odd for Ges to consider how close Xav had come to choosing his aunt, and how this meant that there would have been no Aral. No Aral to marry his sister, and no Aral to love him. 

Later that night, Aral had let loose a torrent of desire, almost as if to make up for the afternoon's embarassment over arguing about their sex life in front of the two older men. Ges wasn't complaining, of course, but he'd thought that Aral's mourning process would be more decorous, that he'd consider it disrespectful to his recently departed wife to 'jump' her brother. Ges pushed out of his mind whatever worries he had about Aral's mercurial temperament, and by the time they finally fell asleep, Ges was more relaxed about Aral than he'd been for months. The only thing that would have made it better for him was his sister being alive, and he recognized that at least some of his desire for her had actually been desire for Aral. He nearly thought he could have left her alone, if only she'd been willing to share her husband.

And now they were entering Vorbarr Sultana, with three more days of bereavement leave to fill... and Ges had reasonable suspicions about how they might spend the time. He closed his eyes and let his mind filled with fantasies.

Until Prince Xav asked Aral, "Should we drop you at Vorkosigan House?"

"No... not yet." Aral looked away.

"You are going to have to talk to your father sometime."

Aral cringed and drew inward. Anything relating to his father could cause this reaction, this withdrawal from resolute, forceful young man to scared little boy. "I can't. Not when I think he might have..."

Ges broke in. "Xav, are you sure you want to pursue this?"

"We need to come to an understanding about it," Xav said. "Aral, I have the same suspicions you do. But I decided to leave it be, because I really don't want to know the answer. Your father would tell the truth on this one, because whatever he did or did not do, he thinks he's right to have wanted her death."

When Aral didn't speak, Ges did. "Aral told me just yesterday that he doesn't want to know either. Because how could he respond if Piotr did do something?"

"A good point. Aral, I think we agree that discussing your wife's death with your father isn't going to be helpful. But you're still alive -- and I will do everything I can to keep it that way -- and you will need to re-establish some sort of relationship with him. It doesn't have to be now, but it should be soon."

Aral gave his grandfather the slightest gesture of assent before turning to stare out the groundcar window, with a bleak, blank expression on his face. 

They were dropped off at Vorrutyer House. For the next several days, just as Ges had predicted, there was lots of sex. Aral always initiated it, and Ges never refused him. The house servants seemed unsurprised by having the two of them so obviously coupled, and respected the closed door of Ges's room. Neither Ges nor Aral ventured into the suite next door, full of reminders of how they had failed, but their overall mood was lighthearted.

It wasn't that they were not mourning, each in his own way. They just never discussed Ges's sister. But Ges could tell when Aral was remembering her, by his glances towards the closet that was between Ges's room and the suite. And Ges imagined that Aral could tell, in those moments when he became silent, that Ges also missed her beyond belief.

\-------------------------------------------

The night after they returned to Vorbarr Sultana, Aral decided he wanted to go to Lis's pub out in the country. "There'll be people who understand out there, you know."

"And not just Lis." Ges decided that he would not share Lis's advice to him with Aral. She had perhaps been mistaken, but he didn't want to plant any ideas about her culpability in Aral's mind. In any case, he felt like he needed company just as much as Aral seemed to. 

"One thing, though," Ges said, "I'm piloting the lightflyer this time."

"Why?" The only hint Aral gave of anxiety was a brief chew on his lower lip, a nervous habit, Aral had told him once, that ran in the Vorkosigan family.

"Aral, look, you're scaring me with how... settled you seem to be. It's actually more frightening than a few days ago, when you were visibly suicidal. Now, I just can't tell."

"You think I'd actually crash the lightflyer on purpose?" Aral asked. His quick shift to anger gave Ges exactly the information he needed. _Yes, I do think you might do that._

"One of the things my father reminded me of, when you were off talking with Xav after the funeral, is that his brother, one of my uncles, died in a suspicious lightflyer accident, and took the man in the passenger seat -- we're almost certain they were lovers -- with him. Can you imagine my father's reaction right now if I even let it be possible that the same thing could happen to me?"

"Hm." Aral was pensive. "I think I see your point. Though I wouldn't..."

"Would you swear that on your name as Vorkosigan?" The question was a trap, of course.

"Perhaps... not." This was said with enough defeat to make Ges wince. _So now I know the full answer: I'm still on suicide watch._

"OK then. Now you know why I am piloting, and you are planting your ass in the damn passenger seat and keeping your hands to yourself," Ges said sternly.

Aral's mood shifted again, as he grabbed Ges and laughed and gave him an entirely too suggestive grope. Ges's mind wandered towards the bed, just a meter away, its rumpled blankets oddly inviting. "I didn't mean it that way," Ges said between gasping breaths when Aral finally let him go. "But... yes. You'll keep your hands to yourself in all senses of that word." 

Aral drew back and bowed his head, almost submissively. Something was working its way through Ges's mind, watching Aral's reaction to being ordered to. There was a different sort of power here, and Ges thought he might like more of it.

They found Lis's pub surprisingly busy for such a cold night. When they walked in, heads definitely turned, and a low murmur spread through the crowd of men. But of course on all of Barrayar, these were the people most likely to know and care about the full story behind the recent tragedies. Well, almost the full story, if the true circumstances of Vortorren's and Vorwyn's deaths had not come to light. Lis came out from behind the bar and hugged them both to express her condolences for their losses.

They did not go to one of the more private booths right away. Rather, they circulated through the bar, collecting more condolences and answering a few questions. Though Ges and Aral had not spoken of what they might say to the curious, it was quickly apparent to Ges that they agreed on how discussions of the events surrounding the deaths should be managed. For example, among these generally sympathetic men, it made sense for Ges and Aral to be contrite for thr role their attachment to each other had played. When asked about how their prominent family members felt, they painted a picture that would agree with public perception: Count Vorrutyer crushed by his daughter's death, Xav Vorbarra strong and understanding, Piotr Vorkosigan's honor wounded enough to have caused him to avoid the funeral entirely. A few gentle inquiries into the future of Ges and Aral's relationship, now that there was not a wife to block them, were met with genuine uncertainty. It all reflected the truth, or some version thereof.

One of the men they talked to was Major Olrent. Ges introduced Aral to the older man, who was there with a much younger companion, almost certainly younger than Ges or Aral. But not, Ges noted, anyone who worked in Ops. Olrent wasn't stupid with his vices. The young man did a double-take as he realized just who he was talking to.

As Ges and Olrent settled into a conversation, mostly about what was up in Ops this week, Aral took the opportunity to go off to the bathroom. When he was out of earshot, Olrent asked, "So, how are you holding up?"

"You know, you're the first person who's asked me that. Hell, even I haven't asked me that, I've been so busy trying to keep him from killing himself."

"He doesn't look suicidal to me."

Ges shivered a bit. "Let's just say that there's a very good reason that I piloted Aral's lightflyer tonight."

Olrent raised an eyebrow, struggled for a moment over a reply, and then changed the subject. "So you'll be back on duty, day after tomorrow?"

"As long as he doesn't do anything stupid." It came out a bit more peevish than Ges had intended. Ges didn't want to say it, but constantly being with Aral was starting to exhaust him.

Luckily, the conversation came to a halt before Olrent could probe further. Aral emerged from the bathroom and threw a few marks down on Lis's table. As Lis handed him a little packet, Aral lifted his chin to Ges to indicate one of the private booths. His eyes were hungry, and it made Ges suddenly self-conscious to be so openly desired. He got up from the table and excused himself rather awkwardly, grateful that Olrent, who clearly knew exactly what was happening, chose not to tease him, and that Olrent's young companion was still sufficiently shocked at seeing Aral Vorkosigan here to not say anything. 

The moment Aral drew the curtain shut, he was all over Ges, whose objections about the booth being not quite private enough were choked off by Aral's kisses. _Just go with it,_ Ges thought, as his self-consciousness vanished. No one here would be offended or even surprised; after all, why did these booths exist in the first place? It seemed like only seconds had passed before he was bent over the table and thoroughly enlightened about the packet's contents. And this was enough to make him forget the sounds of men's voices and the clinking glasses of cider, and forget about Olrent, and forget about anything but Aral.

They lingered for a while in the darkened privacy of the booth, holding hands like a couple of teenagers. When they emerged, there were a few more men in the bar, including Jeroen Vorkalloner, their old "friend" from the Academy. Aral merely nodded in Jeroen's direction, as if there was nothing to worry about. Ges, on the other hand, tensed, in anticipation of a taunt.

And was not disappointed. As they passed Jeroen, he commented softly, "Hm, didn't take you long, did it. I'll bet you were fucking before her offering was even cold."

Aral tried to grab Ges as his fists flew into Jeroen's face. They were on the floor in an instant, all three of them, and Ges was so enraged that it didn't matter that he was fighting two men at once, Aral trying to hold him back, while Jeroen returned his every blow. Ges pounded Jeroen until there was blood pouring off his face, and tried to twist away from Aral. Someone started screaming, and it took him a moment to realize that it was him.

"Vorrutyer! Back off, now!" It was a military command, and Ges was as trained to obey as any other young officer. _Olrent._ Ges went silent, and let Aral pull him off his prostrate victim. Lis was there instantly, as Olrent shoved Ges onto the bench in the booth where he'd just been with... _forget it, fucked by_ Aral. What bitter irony. Ges wiped his face of sweat, and spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. Aral was right next to him, breathing hard.

"We don't handle things that way here, Ges." Lis's voice was soft, yet firm. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. And Aral... I'm sorry, but the ban has to extend to you, also. Don't either of you come back until I pass a message through Major Olrent here that it's OK. But if it's any consolation, Vorkalloner's mouth has been creating too many problems. He's banned for good."

Ges didn't say anything, but in his mind, he was furious at himself for losing his temper over a puffed-up nobody like Jeroen Vorkalloner. And scared, now, since one of the reasons he'd agreed to come out to Lis's in the first place was that he'd realized he needed help with Aral, help from people who'd understand. Aral would return to the space forces soon, but that would not put an end to Ges's worry, and he'd hoped to have one place where he could speak frankly. He swore under his breath as Aral guided him out of the pub and into the chill of the night. And he let Aral pilot the lightflyer back to Vorbarr Sultana, because he was in such a foul mood that he barely cared if Aral killed them both, anyway.

\-------------------------------------------

The next day, Aral and Ges awoke late, and stayed in. Ges was touched by Aral's kindness, the time spent sitting with him while he soaked his sore muscles, and how gently Aral rubbed salve into the bruises and scrapes Ges had picked up in the explosive fight with Jeroen Vorkalloner. In the late afternoon, Lis called to see how they were doing. She mentioned something very surprising to Ges -- that she was the daughter of a Vorrutyer Armsman, and had grown up with Ges's father and aunts and uncles. He wondered what path had led her to where she was now, proprietress and mother figure to an entire underground community on Barrayar. Maybe his father would know... but Ges wasn't sure his father had any idea about Lis's current life, and he didn't want to cause trouble for her.

It was their last night together for who knew how long. At dinner, they cracked a bottle of the best Vorkosigan red wine, supplied by Aral's father in a happier time. It reminded Ges of his sister, of everything that had happened, and how much of it was his own fault. He didn't really think it was worth it, just to have Aral back. 

When dinner was over, adding a celebratory bottle of Vorkosigan brandy to be taken up to Ges's rooms as a digestif seemed like a good idea. They wouldn't drink enough to cause a hangover, only enough to take off the edge of anticipation of returning to duty, and being separated once again.

Ges wasn't worried about taking up his responsibilities at Ops, a predictable and congenial enough environment. There would of course be a certain amount of gossip to deal with, but he'd had good practice for that at Lis's pub the night before. And most likely, no one at Ops except Olrent would know to ask about Aral's return to him, so the most difficult part could be put off for a while. And if anyone did know, Ges had the convenient cover of being a Vorrutyer, as in "He's a Vorrutyer; his depravity is no surprise." 

Whether Aral was ready was another matter entirely. He seemed too cheerful, as if his wife's death had barely touched him, as if he'd forgotten that he'd committed a capital crime by killing her lovers. Or maybe he was just relieved to finally have what he wanted, not what he thought he should want. Ges still worried; the rumors of skirmishes with the Cetagandans turning into an all-out war were ever-present, and were exactly the thing to spur Aral to push himself to play the hero, no matter whether he was prepared enough -- and sane enough -- to go into battle.

In Ges's room, they fell, entirely predictably, into the big bed, and Ges reacted strongly enough to not care about his lingering aches from fighting with Jeroen the night before. Aral had him half-undressed before he knew it, and they grappled together, shirtless, pushing at each other playfully. Ges saw real joy in Aral, a good mood not carefully constructed to impress anyone with just how fine he was doing. And his heart sank as he realized what this meant. _He's not ready. What I've been seeing in him can't be real, because it looks nothing like this._

Aral pinned Ges down, and after a kiss that all by itself was as thrilling as anything else they could do, put a hand on Ges's chest and said, "Stay here. I want to get something."

He went through the closet into the suite next door -- now unlocked, as Aral had been packing up his kit in preparation to return to duty, and he'd gathered up a few small keepsakes from his marriage to take with him. When he returned, he smiled and held up the cuffs Vortorren had used on Ges's sister. "I thought... we might figure out how to use these. I was just curious, remembering what you told me about how she reacted to them."

This was about the last thing Ges had expected, and he was uncomfortable once Aral started putting the cuffs on him and he realized just how Aral wanted to arrange things. He didn't want to be restrained, and not just because he'd never thought of himself in that role.

It was as if Aral had read his mind. "Don't worry; I'm not tying you up so you can't stop me from killing myself," he said as he fastened the ropes to the bed.

"I was worried you might..." Ges's voice shook, and he gulped.

"I know. But Ges, I wouldn't do that to you. I would not leave you so humiliated, if I were to... go. I don't want to haunt you; I'm still trying to live."

Ges already felt haunted by Aral, but he looked so good, standing there in his trousers with his torso bared and muscular, a smile lighting up his face after so much pain. Ges couldn't say no to him, and it was too late anyway.

But Aral dithered about. He stared at Ges, then looked away, reached out a hand to touch him and then withdrew it. Ges was growing impatient, and he finally said, "You don't know what to do now, do you?"

"No... I mean, you're all tied up, and I could do anything, but what makes this special?" Aral was truly befuddled.

"Just try it. You know what I like, what you like, and I can't get away from you, not that I'd want to." Ges kept his tone warm and encouraging, even though he was starting to suspect that this had been a mistake. He couldn't help but think of his sister, similarly bound, but enchanted by her partner. He'd witnessed her passion; why was he feeling nothing?

Aral finally reached out to him and drew his nails along Ges's torso. Ges felt like he was playacting as he tipped his head back in some imitation of response. Eventually Aral's hands moved further down his body, and he did respond then, but only physically. And of course that would happen; he was young and healthy, and stimulation was stimulation. 

After a few more tries, Aral sat down at the foot of the bed with a deep sigh. "This isn't doing much for you, is it?"

"Not really." All Ges actually felt was relief that Aral wasn't going to kill himself. "And you?"

"It just doesn't feel right to me. It's the same actions, and of course you look... wonderful, sprawled out like that, but... no."

Ges took a deep breath. In this odd state, half-removed from the immediate situation, the more analytical part of his brain was starting to work. A phrase from an old Earth sex book he'd run across popped into his mind: _topping from the bottom._ That was him. That had been him since the beginning. He'd used Aral's incessant urge to take action by laying out the possibilities and then guiding Aral where he wanted him to go. Lis had been correct in her judgment of Ges's intentions, if not his role. Maybe the only reason he'd thought of himself as a gentle persuader was that Aral had always been so willing. 

Very quietly, he said, "So maybe it is time for me to top from the top." It was meant as self-reflection, but Aral heard, and gave him a quizzical look. Ges responded carefully, yet as casually as he could. "Aral, would you be willing to... trade places with me?"

Aral closed his eyes for a moment and dipped his head, as he had when he'd conceded the argument over who would pilot the lightflyer to Lis's. _That gesture again. Pure submission._ When Aral opened his eyes and mouthed, "Yes," Ges's heart sang. 

Aral released him quickly, and started to climb onto the bed. "No," Ges said, "I think I want you... there." He pointed across the room to a straight-backed, plain wooden chair, of the sort often found in classrooms. "So why don't you strip, and sit down there while I get ready?" He was careful to phrase this as a request rather than an order. He didn't know just how far Aral's willingess to experiment extended, and wanted to give him time to get used to the apparent reversal of roles.

In the adjoining bathroom, Ges put his trousers back on, and then his boots. He considered the rest of his uniform, and quickly decided it was a good idea. The face staring back at him in the mirror was handsome, and eager, and very military. Only his eyes, with their soft expression made extravagant by their long lashes, were non-regulation. But Aral had such a weakness for them. _Yes. A man who loves soldiers will love this._

And so Aral did. His jaw dropped when he saw Ges, and he was almost instantly fully aroused. Ges knelt down and drew the ropes around Aral's legs, and then fastened his arms behind the back of the chair.

He rose and stepped back. _Oh._ Aral like this was... precious. He rubbed his hands together, and thought for a moment about how to take advantage of the man so used to action, and now so restricted. He supposed that poor dead Vortorren wouldn't mind if he borrowed a technique... "Aral," he said in a voice firm enough to make Aral's head snap up. "Look at me." Aral obeyed instantly, and Ges held him with his eyes. He looked up and down Aral's body, lingering here and there to make Aral blush. The response was wonderful -- more straining against the ropes, Aral's lips parting, nearly panting, his eyes beseeching.

Inevitably, Aral broke eye contact, and just as Vortorren had done to Ges's sister, Ges reached out and grabbed Aral in a way guaranteed to both hurt and stimulate. Aral gasped, and started to protest.

"No. No complaining. No pleading. _Just stay with me,_ " Ges said as he swung himself sideways into a comfortable chair facing Aral. A small table beside it held the bottle of brandy and a couple of glasses; Ges poured himself a measure and leaned back with a smile. It was only partly a smile of tenderness; prompted by the cruelty of hurting Aral, he felt rage. Aral was completely focused on him. 

Ges sipped at the brandy, watching Aral watch him. "I wonder what I shall do with you," he said. Oh. There was an idea, something they hadn't done in years. Ges finished his glass, and returned to Aral, and kneeled before him in that old, submissive gesture, now a parody of their more usual positions.

He let his lips trail along Aral's arms as he released one of Aral's hands and brought it around and placed it. _There._ Aral was trembling as Ges stepped back and once again sat across from him.

"I want to watch you. Just like I did when we were at the Academy." Aral reddened furiously, but when Ges made a small "go on" gesture to him, he started to stroke... And Ges watched. It was lovely, though tinged with sadness from the memory of those simpler days. He thought briefly of making Aral stop just before... _No. Let him go on..._ Aral climaxed quickly, and something in his expression made Ges think much more intensely than usual.

He went to Aral with a handkerchief, and with more than a bit of tenderness cleaned him off. He was surprised to find Aral still following him with his eyes, just as Ges had asked originally. Ges stood up again, and smiled down at Aral. "We're not done yet, you know," he said as he pulled open the buttons of his trousers and let Aral have a good view. And then, with no warning, he thrust forward, into Aral's face, and Aral did exactly what Ges wanted him to. _As if he had any choice... As if I had any choice..._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ges hated this. Hated seeing Aral so beaten, so impaired. He crouched down in the snow in front of Aral and grasped him by the shoulders, then pulled him into a kiss. Aral was like deadweight in Ges's arms, but this got a response from him, a mumbled, "Love you." Ges had to blink back tears as he helped Aral up to his feet..._
> 
> Content: Ges and Aral go back on duty. But Aral gets stupid and suicidal. 
> 
> Warnings: Not-pretty visual sexual imagery/fantasies. Language. Violence.

Ges lay in the bed in his room, while Aral dozed beside him. His mind churned, and it seemed he would not be well-rested for his return to duty, although at least he'd not had any more brandy after that one glass taken while he'd enjoyed watching Aral. So he wouldn't be hungover as well as exhausted.

Aral had sat in the chair for several minutes after Ges released the ropes. He'd seemed almost catatonic until Ges started gingerly questioning him. He got nothing but one-word responses or little shakes of the head from Aral, until he finally gave up and pulled Aral up out of the chair and put him to bed. Aral was willing to say a little more, once Ges was curled around him. The experience, it seemed, had been very enjoyable -- and that made Aral miserable. It was yet another break in Aral's self-image, or at least the self-image he thought he should have. 

Ges sighed. Here was yet more evidence of that same old issue between them, that there was no room for "Ges my lover" in what Aral saw as his proper destiny, much less "Ges my lover who gets me off by tying me up and..." No room, yet Aral leaned on him, trusted him completely, and wanted him anyway. 

Now, Ges mulled over his own reaction. The part that he'd most enjoyed was watching Aral simultaneously consumed with humiliation and passion. That glass of brandy had gone down so smoothly as he'd watched. He could imagine himself in the future, sitting back just as insolently to watch another's degradation. But not Aral. For all that Ges had enjoyed the scene, Aral's willingness was a distraction. Maybe what he wanted was someone who would fight him more...

What they'd done, Ges realized, mirrored what his sister and Vortorren had done, in tone if not in exact physical acts. But there was one important difference: Ges had not asked Aral for a safeword. It was an unconscious oversight, and as he contemplated it, he started to think about just how far he could have gone with Aral.

His mind fell into a fantasy about his sister. He'd finally accepted that yes, he'd wanted to have sex with her... but not just that. He saw her tied up and terrified. He was hurting her for taking Aral away from him. The sexual impulse gave way to inflicting pain. Making her cry, and then stopping her from crying. Her face vanished, and in Ges's mind he wasn't sure what woman this was, only that she was debased, broken, entirely at his mercy. Then Aral appeared, equally broken, focused intently on Ges as Ges guided him through a whole series of cruel exercises taken out upon the woman's body. This Aral had set aside all notions of honor and propriety and cared only about making Ges happy. It was so satisfying...

He had to roll out of bed to go clean up. He hadn't even realized what he was doing, the images in his mind were so strong. And where had they come from? Within moments of crawling back in next to Aral, he was asleep.

\--------------------------------------------

The next morning, back at Ops, Ges was distracted. The exhilarating fantasies slipping through his mind alternated with far more tender memories of Aral, up to and including the morning's parting. Though Aral had been in a hurry to get to the military shuttleport outside Vorbarr Sultana, he'd pulled Ges into a longer than usual shower, full of soap and laughter and hugs. Once dressed, they'd half-jokingly adjusted each other's uniforms while making snide comments about their commanding officers. Aral made vaguely obscene threats about what he might do if Ges damaged the precious lightflyer he was leaving behind. Their mirth and their nervousness were equally genuine.

Around lunchtime, a new set of more disturbing thoughts took root. Ges wished he could just make one call to the shuttleport, just enough to reassure himself that Aral was doing all right. But ... he didn't want to do anything that would call attention to their connection; their feelings were too raw, and someone would notice. Ges just hoped that Aral's cohorts were being as kind and respectful about Aral's grief as the Ops forces were about his. Of course, most of the men around him knew only about his sister's death, and the seemingly connected "duel" that had caused the deaths of her two lovers. Aral's role in it all -- and Ges's for that matter -- was mostly obscured. 

After lunch, Ges finally thought he was settling back into the rhythm of his work, which this afternoon was lining up more honor guards for dead veterans. He wondered why this work touched him so much; was it the pageantry, doing right by men who had undoubtedly suffered so Barrayar could continue, some quasi-religious belief about honor guards of angels sweeping down and taking the newly released souls from their worldly counterparts? Luckily, this sort of musing interfered less with getting a job done than the morning's combination of worry and sex fantasies...

Ges checked his chrono. _Ah. 1400 hours. Aral must be in the air, on the way to his ship by now..._

He was halfway through a sigh of relief when the comconsole beeped at him. _"Imperial Military Shuttleport calling..."_ The sigh became a curse.

A murderous-looking officer's face appeared on the screen. In the background... Ges echoed his silent oath when he saw a familiar form, bloodied and hunched, with two armed guards pointing their stunners in its direction. "What the fuck...." he exclaimed.

"May I remind you, Lord Vorrutyer, that you are using improper form to address a superior?" the officer sneered. Saying 'Lord Vorrutyer' rather than 'Ensign' was meant as an insult; Ges knew the tone, recognized it as associated with tough men who thought the Vor were overpriveledged and weak.

"Sir." Ges struggled to keep his tone respectful. "What happened?"

"Your little queen acted up. I should throw him in the brig, but word from on high is that I'm supposed to let you come get him and take him home. Home to Mama."

Ges groaned as he watched Aral jump up and begin to rush towards the officer. A quick stunner buzz ended that, and left Aral crumpled to the floor in a heap. _Why did the damn officer have to choose that weak spot? There is no Mama for Aral to go home to. No Papa, really, unless one counts that bitter, disappointed old husk called Piotr. No loving siblings. No wife. No children. Just... me. And at the moment, I wish I could just disappear._

The other Ops men in the room jerked their heads up in surprise as Ges rushed past them. He chose the stairs over the lift tube, feeling like he needed the forward momentum to keep his sudden resentment of Aral from taking over and stopping him from going to Aral's rescue. At the lobby checkpoint, though, a big guard stepped in front of him and put out a hand. "Soldier!" For all that Ops was reasonably relaxed, there were certain formalities.

Ges was shaking. "Got to get a friend. It's an emergency, he's in huge trouble, he has no family..." 

A voice came on the intercom. _Olrent. Thank god..._ "Let him go, Corporal. Unless you want ImpSec questioning you." The big guard bowed aside and opened the door for Ges.

_ImpSec? No time for questions; just go._ He made Aral's lightflyer scream all the way to the shuttleport. At the gate he was halted, but when he tried to argue, the guard just opened a hand towards the tarmac. Three men -- Ges recognized the officer right away, and cursed under his breath -- dragged Aral towards him as casually as if they were dragging a sack of dirty laundry. 

By the time they reached him, Ges had the passenger door open, and the lightflyer set to take off with the touch of a button. Aral, limp and moaning, was unceremoniously dumped inside, one of the men pressed an ampoule of synergine to his arm, a release was shoved in Ges's face for him to sign, and that was it. The officer still looked like he wanted to kill someone, and Ges didn't want to give him any chances. Ges got the flyer airborne so quickly that it blew the guard's hat off his head.

Luckily, the airspace over Vorbarr Sultana was amazingly uncrowded for the middle of the afternoon, because it took a few minutes of flying around somewhat randomly before Ges calmed down enough to stop acting on reflex only, and actually think about what to do next. Given Aral's physical condition, a trip to ImpMil would have been a good idea, if only Ezar hadn't employed those "psychiatrists" with their imported training. Whatever had happened to Aral wouldn't be suppressed, at least not immediately, and no doubt the head-docs would be all too eager to get their hands on such a fascinating case of 'deviance.' Rumor had it that they applied electric shock to the brain, to wipe the memories of the insane, and Ges couldn't bear the thought of Aral -- his Aral -- erased like that. Or of Aral's memories of him, obliterated.

He considered just returning to Vorrutyer House, but something about the semi-conscious Aral was frightening, and Ges didn't really want to be alone with him when he came to. And could the Vorrutyer Armsmen, even the loyal Ruben, really be trusted to keep looking the other way? There were already the suspicions surrounding the maid who'd been with his sister when she died. It seemed possible, if not likely, that Piotr Vorkosigan could have suborned other Vorrutyer House staff, maybe even an Armsman. 

That left him with... Lis's tavern. From which they'd been banned just... Was it only two nights before? The past week or so felt to Ges like it had packed in a year's worth of tragedy. And given Aral's failed attempt to return to duty, the next week might well pack in another year's worth. Ges decided to throw himself on Lis's mercy, even though her busy evening period would be starting soon.

As they flew towards Vormuir's district, Aral started to come around. He wasn't talking yet, but he blinked at Ges, who put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. Ges hoped Aral wouldn't react to being stunned by vomiting, as so many people did. 

The lot outside the tavern was blessedly almost empty. As Ges opened up his side of the lightflyer, Aral turned to him and mumbled, "Thank you," blinked a few more times, and followed this with "Guess... not ready." Ges left him in the flyer and went to knock on the tavern door. Technically he supposed that as long as he didn't set foot in the building, he wouldn't be violating the ban. 

When Lis opened the door, she frowned. "I thought I told you..."

Ges motioned to the lightflyer, where Aral's slumped form was clearly visible. "Please, I need help, time, something...."

"Good god, what happened?" 

"I don't know all of it, but something at the shuttleport, followed by an incredibly stupid, albeit provoked, decision to attack an officer, and a consequential stunner blast. He didn't even get back to the space forces before it all fell apart."

Lis held up a hand to him and closed the door, leaving him shivering from both the cold and his nervousness. But she reappeared after a moment; Ges surmised that she'd probably let some assistant know she was leaving -- and hurried with him towards the flyer.

Aral had closed his eyes again, and barely reacted as they peered in at him. Ges hadn't had time to really get a good look at just how beat up Aral was... a black eye, a swollen nose, scratches... and that was only the visible damage. He was sure that what he'd find under Aral's torn, filthy uniform would not be the flawless body he'd so enjoyed for the past few days.

"Aral," Lis said, "do you think you can walk yet?"

"May... maybe." Aral's voice was slurred, as if he had been drinking. Ges had never been stunned, but he'd heard that the recovery was as bad as the most hellish hangover one could imagine.

Lis leaned in and got an arm around Aral's torso, causing him to blanch. "Ribs... hurt," he said. She let go, and he shifted a little, levered himself out of the flyer, and then stumbled and fell to his knees.

Ges hated this. Hated seeing Aral so beaten, so impaired. He crouched down in the snow in front of Aral and grasped him by the shoulders, then pulled him into a kiss. Aral was like deadweight in Ges's arms, but this got a response from him, a mumbled, "Love you." Ges had to blink back tears as he helped Aral up to his feet, and not just because of Aral's physical condition. In his mind, Aral was now _his_ Aral... What had changed? But this was not the time for profound thoughts...

Ges and Lis half-carried Aral out of the parking area and down a path to a little cabin, maybe fifty meters away. Inside, it was cluttered and cozy, and very obviously Lis's home. There were hooks by the door for coats and bags. A small kitchen held a stove and sink, and a heavy table with a bench on each side divided this part of the single room from a sitting area with a worn armchair and an old couch in front of a fireplace. At the back was a steep staircase presumably leading to a bedroom.

They got Aral settled on the couch, with a pillow under his head and a heavy quilt covering his legs, and Lis started heating a kettle on the stove while Ges scrounged up kindling and wood for a fire. In spite of the emergency, it all seemed comfortingly domestic. Ges wondered how many -- or few -- of the tavern's customers had ever been here. For all that Lis seemed like a substitute mother to "her boys" as she called them, there was something intensely private about her, as if the caring was allowed to go one way only, from her to them.

Lis gave Ges an old sheet to tear into strips, and asked Aral to remove his tunic so they could wrap his ribs. When Aral sat up and fumbled with his buttons, Ges bent to help him. He could see dark bruises through Aral's once white but now bloodstained undershirt. "Should we remove this?" he asked Lis.

"We'll get a better wrap on those ribs if you do. Aral, if you needed any stitches, it's too late now."

But when Aral went to lift his arms so Ges could pull the shirt over his head, the pain made him white around the lips, and he sank back against the pillow with his eyes closed. Ges thought for a moment, and then reached into one of Aral's boots... _Yes._ The knife with its jeweled handle was there, witness to yet another fraught scene. He wasn't usually superstitious, but he imagined that it hummed with energy pulled in from all its tragic experiences. Because of Lis's uncertain frown, he took care to cut the shirt by pulling it away from Aral's body and running the knife underneath it, facing outwards.

Ges took a quick breath in as he surveyed the damage covering Aral's torso. The bruises across Aral's chest were dark enough to nearly hide the nest of curly hair that Ges had snuggled into just this morning. Lis ran quick probing fingers over Aral's ribs, noting the spots that caused him to wince. She addressed Aral directly. "I don't think anything is broken, but that must have been one hell of a fight."

"It... it was. Horrible. Stupid of me." Aral trembled as he sat up, and Lis started to wrap his ribs.

"Go on?" Ges asked.

Aral blushed a little, seemingly ashamed. "Everything was going fine until we got lined up to board the shuttles. Well, not completely fine... no one would look me in the eye, or say anything to me. Then there was some sort of delay among the higher officers, and men started getting restless. The lines started to disintegrate, and I took it upon myself to keep order. Before... everyone listened to me when things got confusing and the senior guys were ignoring us. I thought it would still be like that."

"But... I tried to get the squadron around me to line up again, and they were just staring at me like they didn't know who I was. Never mind that I'd drilled with these men for months! And then this jerk, Rocovy ... said something about my wife."

"You weren't prepared for this?" Ges had a terrible feeling where things were going.

"I knew I might have to work to regain my authority, but for something as simple as forming a line? I was like everyone else; I was eager to get back out... there." Aral tipped his chin up, indicating the sky where his beloved space forces had awaited. And then his voice fell into something small and horrified. "Ges, he asked me if I knew that it took three men at once to satisfy her!" 

"Not three..." Ges murmured.

"... and that one of them was you, Ges... you didn't, did you?"

"No." _Well, if I'd had the opportunity..._ Ges's memory threw up an image of his sister tied to her bed, with Vortorren and his toys. He struggled away from it, away from the pull of the new, intense fantasies he'd had the previous night, and returned his attention to Aral.

"Others joined in, taunting me. Worse than Jeroen ever did. And then Rocovy... asked me if I enjoyed myself, screwing my wife while her brother... I'm sorry, Lis... screwed me in the ass at the same time." Aral stopped and gulped in air, and then grasped one of Ges's hands before continuing. "I was barely hanging on, trying not to let them crack me... when he said something about me and my mother. That was the end of it. I couldn't stop myself, I practically ripped that guy's head off. After that, it was just a free-for-all... and you know what happened after that." 

Aral's grip had tightened with every word, causing Ges enough pain that he had to talk himself out of pulling his hand away. Family, propriety, leadership, the sanctity of women, his mother... all so important to Aral, and this Rocovy fellow -- who was a jerk, Ges had met him before and immediately disliked him -- had taken it all, gift-wrapped it in the shame of homosexuality, and thrown it at Aral in the most public way possible. Ges grew angry as he realized how unnecessary it had all been; a good senior officer would have nipped the confrontation in the bud, Rocovy would have been pulled off duty, perhaps Aral would have been shifted to another squad, and the excited murmurs of gossip over Aral's return would have faded soon enough. 

Aral let go of Ges's hand and slumped, defeated. Lis let out a low whistle of appreciation, followed by a sardonic, "You're right, Aral, that was one hell of a fight. If the military brass weren't such idiots...." She trailed off into a snarl.

She stood and turned to the kitchen, then came back with mugs of tea, and painkillers for Aral. "I need to get back to work. Aral, I think you'll heal, and all that talking tells me you're over the worst of your stunner hangover." 

After she left, they sat quietly, sipping their tea while the fire roared. The cabin's aura of calm domesticity lulled Ges into other thoughts. _Would he let me?_

He shifted out of his chair and onto the floor, then leaned up and kissed Aral's neck and shoulders, avoiding the bruises. Aral pulled him in to return the favor, and smiled a brief, fragile smile. 

"Don't leave me," he whispered.

"Never."

"I'm ... only a liability. Sometimes I think it would be better for you if I just ... died."

"No. Don't you leave me, either." Ges moved his hands and lips down Aral's body. When he reached the top of Aral's trousers, he reached a hand gently beneath the waistband, and felt the response. "You're not hurt here," he grinned. 

"I'm not. Amazingly enough... but I'm not going to be much use for you right now." Aral's toes curled, and he sighed in pleasure. 

Ges replied, "Don't worry about it." And then made sure that for at least these few minutes, _his Aral_ would worry about nothing. 

\-----------------------------------------------

A few hours later, he helped Aral back into his clothing. "We should get back to Vorbarr Sultana."

"I know. And, Ges, I really need to talk to my father. Tonight."

"Why now?"

"I think... the longer I wait, the less joyous this family reunion will be. He'll have more time to build up the pile of disappointments I have caused him. Just think about this fight today.... of course word will get back to him, and he'll just take it as more evidence that I am senseless, over-emotional, weak... The work of repair between us is overwhelming now. Give him another year to stew, and it might be impossible."

"You want me to come with you?" Ges asked. He wasn't looking forward to a face-to-face encounter with Piotr Vorkosigan. The last time they'd spoken... he didn't think he'd ever forget -- or forgive -- Piotr's response to his daughter-in-law's death. _"A good end to that filthy little .... slut."_

"I wouldn't go without you. He hates you, but he's proper enough that he'll hold back some of his bile if I'm not alone. Confine his rage to the... sensible things to be rageful about."

"And about.... her?"

"I won't ask. My grandfather, you, your father... if I had the slightest doubt about wanting to know if he arranged her murder, you all took it away. It will weigh on my conscience forever, but I don't want to know. I _can't_ know, do you see?"

Aral was quiet on the trip back to Vorbarr Sultana. He'd walked back to the flyer unassisted, mostly steady on his feet. He requested, and got, Ges's permission to leave the shoulder harness off, on account of his ribs, because the pain-killers only worked so well. Ges worried that while the physical wounds would heal -- were already healing -- the wounds to Aral's soldierly self-image might not.

The darkness of the countryside transformed into the glittery lights of Vorbarr Sultana. This allowed Ges to notice two black lightflyers keeping pace with them. He sped up a little, slowed down, banked unexpectedly, yet they clung to their path. At the same time they kept enough distance that there was no way to identify them. "Aral," Ges asked, "do you see those flyers out there? I think we're being followed."

Aral craned his neck around towards Ges's side windowscreen, and worried his lower lip for a moment before saying, "ImpSec."

"ImpSec? Shit. Do you think they've been following us all along, to Lis's and back?"

"You've said yourself that they must know about Lis and her clientele." Aral seemed astonished, as if Ges had asked him the most thickheaded question.

"Hm. You have a point. But why do they care about _us?_ "

"Um... rising military star and heir of Barrayar's greatest living General, disgracing himself personally and professionally... I haven't exactly been behaving like a good soldier. Our buddies at ImpSec have always kept tabs on the Vorkosigans, because we're so close to the throne, yet we never try to take it for ourselves. They'd like to keep it that way, and Negri doesn't quite understand that an Emperor Vorkosigan is about as unlikely as an Emperor... Negri."

Ges shivered at the mention of the man everyone called "Ezar's Familiar." He was ruthless, in support of Ezar's ruthlessness, and utterly uninterested in rank or status. Completely devoted to the Imperium, but always as its servant. Whenever Ges had encountered Negri in person, he'd been unnerved. "So let them follow?"

"Of course. It's not like we could stop them, anyway." Aral went silent again and stared the other way, undoubtedly steeling himself for the meeting with Piotr. 

Ges called for, and received, clearance to land the flyer at Vorkosigan House. He'd been conscious of just how cozy the flyer was, what with his legs only a few centimeters away from Aral's. And now he'd have to keep a respectable distance... until they got free of Piotr and back to Vorrutyer House, at least.

"Aral," he said, "Five-point restraint for landing. You know the drill. You need to get those straps buckled back in."

Aral's response was to whimper. Ges was concerned enough to look towards him for a moment. _What's that click-click, more unfastening... Are those painkillers wearing off alread...?_

The two punches came so quickly that Ges couldn't have stopped them. First his jaw, and then as he reflexively moved his hand towards his face, his crotch. He desperately wanted to double over, but his own safety harness kept him back. His vision flickered, and he felt the lightflyer wobble. 

Aral had grabbed the controls of the flyer, and dipped and turned wildly. And then they were heading straight for Vorkosigan House -- not for the little landing pad outside the garage entrance, kept clear of snow and ice, but for the big window of Piotr's study, its lights glowing within. Ges couldn't move; he felt his heart pounding as he gulped in air. _What does a man think when he knows he's about to die?_

A black shape swooped in from the right, practically grazing them. "ImpSec fuckers!" Aral swore, but the shock had had its intended effect -- he'd turned to the left, away from his target. There was a second ImpSec lightflyer now, helping guide them from the other side. With enormous effort, Ges wrested the controls away from Aral, and a moment later, Ges heard one of the wings of the flyer give way as they half-crashed, half landed in front of Vorkosigan House. Their dark escorts angled up sharply and sped away.

Ges looked over towards Aral. "You bastard!" he shrieked. "You said you wouldn't..." He could hear shouts as the Vorkosigan Armsmen pushed through the snow towards them.

Aral actually laughed at him. "No, I never said I wouldn't; I only said I'd come to you first." Then he said, much more quietly, "What does a man who's embracing death need to regain?"


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Through the closed door, Armsman Ruben spoke. "ImpSec's here. They need you at the Residence." Ges got into his undress greens -- the most presentable uniform he had on hand, after several nights in a row of drunken carousing "in honor of," Aral had said with an ironic salaam, "my demotion" -- and pulled on his boots._
> 
> Content: Piotr being mean, a surprising story, a chilling interview. 
> 
> Warnings: Language, reference to underage (13 y.o.) sexuality.

_"You,"_ Piotr said to Ges with a glare that could have melted steel. Ges silently acknowledged Piotr with an open palm. He knew that Piotr was furious -- no one could have missed it -- but had no idea what action he might take, now that he confronted the details of his son's life, right in front of him in his own study.

Aral and Ges sat in side-by-side chairs, while Piotr paced in front of a wall of bookcases. The lightflyer crash had left Ges with a wrenched shoulder that begged for painkillers, but if Aral had been further injured, it was impossible to tell underneath the bruises he'd acquired at the shuttleport. Aral looked absolutely miserable, though, and wouldn't look at Ges. They had so much to settle between them... but not now. First this damn interview. Ges would have rather been just about anywhere but here, facing the great General Count Piotr Vorkosigan.

"If you want to talk to me," Aral said, "Ges stays." 

Ges found Aral's loyalty touching, but he remained suspicious of it, coming as it did from someone who'd just nearly committed murder-suicide, with Ges as the murdered party. And he wasn't sure which way Piotr would jump -- ongoing estrangement with his son, or a discussion in the presence of someone Piotr clearly loathed.

Piotr kept pacing, avoiding eye contact. Finally he turned to Aral. "You are a Vorkosigan, not a debased Vorrutyer," Piotr said. This made Ges wonder if Piotr had forgotten that his very own mother was a Vorrutyer. One of old Pierre LeSanguinaire's daughters, given to Piotr's father as a reward for a Time-of-Isolation battle well-fought. She had been beautiful, smart, stubborn... well, Ges knew where Piotr -- and Aral -- got some of their temper.

"You cannot.... _will not_ be a... sodomite. A disgrace to the family. A foul-minded idiot convinced to drop his trousers by some pretty boy who bats his beautiful brown eyes a few times." Piotr held out his hands and imitated the gesture, momentarily softening his expression into something almost flirtatious. Ges let the slur against him slide; in fact he found it a bit amusing. 

Piotr turned away from them and looked out over the snow-covered city, lost in thought. Maybe he was contemplating how very different this scene might have played out if Aral had succeeded in wresting the lightflyer away from Ges and crashing it through that very window. Shattered glass, plenty of blood, possibly a dead body... or two. Would Piotr have preferred that to this?

Ges snuck a glance at Aral, who shrugged and looked away again. If they had been alone, Ges would have grabbed him and shook him and made him look back. But he supposed that they both ought to be grateful for the presence of Piotr, however foul he took the conversation, because Ges would not have known what to say to Aral now. He thought of his father, who in his own way had done his best for both of them, as individuals and as a... couple. Count Vorrutyer could have been cruel, could have excoriated them for their acts rather than the effects of their acts, as Piotr Vorkosigan seemed wont to do. His reward for being so understanding could not be Ges's death. And then there was Prince Xav, their other silent support...

Eventually, Piotr resumed his pacing. There had to be a righteous rant building up inside of him, and Ges found himself imagining its contents in advance of their delivery. All the usual tropes about proper masculinity, loyalty, honor, family, politics... The same ammunition stupid Rocovy had used on Aral less than twelve hours ago. However, General Count Piotr Vorkosigan was not stupid.

When he spoke, he said only one thing to Aral. One contemptuous sentence. "I have only you." His voice then filled with pain. "If only those bastards hadn't killed your brother..."

_Oh. I forgot about the most important thing. Maybe he is stupid! Or maybe he really doesn't care whether Aral lives or dies._

Aral's face froze. He stood and stalked out of the room, his fury only marred by the careful way he moved to avoid aggravating his injuries. 

"Weakling," Piotr muttered under his breath. Then he turned to Ges. "Get out!"

"Sir." Ges trembled a little, both from fear and rage. "My lord Count, I've saved his life.... let's see. At least four times in the past week. Maybe more. I don't want him to die... and watching you devalue him isn't making keeping him alive any easier. You could easily have the memories of both your sons as your comfort, not just one. Is that what you want?" He took a breath, and continued, "If you do, I should warn you that I will be an obstacle to you, just as my sister was."

And it was clear that Piotr knew exactly what Ges was referring to. His eyes flickered, but he said nothing. _Is he guilty of having her killed, or astonished that I'd accuse him to his face? Or both? Or neither?_ Ges remembered then that he was bound to his father, Prince Xav, and Aral to leave the answer untouched. Before Piotr could think of a reply, Ges bowed his head and went to go find Aral.

\-----------------------------------------------

They were back at Vorrutyer House, after a long, silent walk through Vorbarr Sultana. Aral had refused to let one of the Vorkosigan Armsmen take them in a groundcar, even though he was getting less and less steady on his feet. Luckily, Ges had cadged a few painkillers from one of the Armsmen, one he knew to be especially protective of Aral, and kept only one for himself before getting Aral to take the rest.

The light on the comconsole in Ges's room was blinking. He strode over to it, and gulped a few times when he saw the call info for the two messages. One was from the head of Ops, and the other from Olrent. This did not bode well for either of them. Luckily, Aral had stopped just inside the door and nearly fallen into a chair. And Aral was tired enough to not ask about the calls. "Ges," Aral called out weakly, "Um, I can't get my boots off on my own."

Ges turned to Aral and smiled. _That_ chair, the one he'd tied Aral to, how fitting! His smile probably came across to Aral as the concern of a good friend, but underneath that smile, there was an image of a helpless Aral, there for Ges to do with as he pleased. But he knew he didn't need any ropes, that Aral was _his_. 

He knelt before Aral, but did not get the usual pleased response. Aral instead closed his eyes, his exhaustion clearly catching up with him. Or perhaps he'd remembered what had happened the last time they'd been in this position...

"A long hot soak in the tub for you, I think," Ges said. "You must be deathly sore." This got a weak assenting nod from Aral. Ges nearly had to lift him from the chair, and Aral hung onto him as they went into the bath. It was very strange to have to help Aral with the simple task of getting out of his clothes.

Ges started to fill the tub, and left Aral to a moment's privacy, because of those comconsole messages. With the volume control on the comconsole turned down, he knew that Aral would not be able to hear.

The familiar, stern face of General Vormurtos, head of Operations, came up first, to inform Ges that he and Aral were both reassigned to the command of Major Olrent, effective immediately. They were to consider themselves still on active duty, their normal bereavement leave having been exhausted, and await Olrent's instructions.

Ges sighed with relief at having trusted his instinct to keep the news from Aral. Aral was now indefinitely booted off space duty, and no doubt would not take the reassignment to Ops well. Ges, in his few years at Ops, had found himself more than once consoling and reassuring some military hero that Ops was not a dead end, but just a temporary resting place for soldiers who needed to be on light duty. These men tended to blame themselves, and hard; there was even the occasional suicide over being reassigned, though in those cases Ges suspected that the suicidal impulse was the motivator for reassignment to Ops in the first place. 

The second message, from Olrent, was almost non-military in its concern. Olrent's tone was that of a personal message to both Ges and Aral, though his words were a simple enough instruction: Ges -- but not Aral -- was to call in once per day with a status report, and let Olrent know how they could be reached if they left Vorbarr Sultana. Ges shivered at Olrent's repetition that ImpSec was monitoring the situation. Olrent's final statement -- _"I trust you to make good decisions, and offer my support in any way you might need"_ \-- was almost enough to make Ges, as wrung out as he was, cry.

There would be time to tell Aral the truth about these messages later.

He was about to rejoin Aral, when he remembered again the last time he'd been in uniform and Aral naked. _Just last night._ Once again, Ges had the sense of well more than one day's heartbreak crowded into the time that had passed since then. That sense of eroticism and power-over needed to be put off for now, and in any case, his uniform was too filthy, spattered with dried blood and dirt, for him to act the commanding presence that had captivated Aral. He thought Aral might smile at the sight of him half-undressed, though, so he stripped out of his jacket and tunic.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, and Ges found Armsman Ruben outside, holding a small bottle of liquid with a surprisingly frilly ribbon wrapped about its neck.

"I heard you running the tap for Lord Vorkosigan. My wife swears by this stuff whenever I've had a hard day," Ruben said as he handed it to Ges. "Mind, it smells like a bloody flower shop, but a couple of capfuls added to the bathwater really is soothing. I know he's in trouble, milord, I heard from one of Count Vorkosigan's men about the lightflyer crash, and I wanted to help, even in a small way." 

Ges nodded his acknowledgment and took the unexpected gift to Aral, who raised an eyebrow at the packaging, and a second eyebrow when Ges uncapped the bottle, revealing that Armsman Ruben was correct about the smell. The concoction was strongly scented with lavender, nearly masking something medicinally sharp. It was just then that Aral noticed that Ges was shirtless, and it did make him smile.

Settling into the hot water proved difficult for Aral, and he chomped down on his lip and grimaced as he eased himself into the tub. "Wish I could lean back, but resting against the tub is going to hurt," he said. He smiled again. 

It was a hint, Ges realized. In a effort to regain some sense of dignity and control, Aral wasn't going to ask him for help directly. So Ges just stripped down and climbed into the tub behind Aral. The heat -- and that darned lavender concoction -- almost immediately soothed Ges's own sore muscles. Aral nearly purred as he settled back against Ges's chest. 

"I have a question," Ges said, as Aral relaxed even more. "In your father's study... when he said that outrageous thing about sodomy, he seemed almost flirtatious. Knowing, at least. So... does the great General have some secrets?"

A hint of tension returned to Aral's body. "Oh, there's a long story there." He was trying to act dismissive, as if it was so inconsequential that it didn't matter -- or maybe a secret so worth divulging that he didn't want to.

"Tell?" Ges leaned forward and brushed his lips across the back of Aral's neck, in one of the few unbruised places. 

Aral shivered a little, and then spoke quietly. "OK. But... I have never told anyone about this. My father doesn't even know I know about it."

He fell into a storyteller's rhythm. "So... it was at the end of Yuri's War. We'd just either wiped out or co-opted most of his supporters in Vormuir's district, and were getting ready to move on to Vorbarr Sultana. Father had dismissed the space forces, and it was all close combat because we were trying to keep Yuri from noticing how close to the city we were. Father was even paranoid about using lightflyers. Normally, he didn't allow much celebrating over our victories, but the night after we gained control over Vormuir, he relented because he knew it would be a few days before anyone would see combat again... and I'm sure he suspected just how bad it was going to be when we got there. But I was only thirteen, and he didn't want me around the heavy drinkers -- which is to say almost everyone under the circumstances -- so he sent me off to the tent right after dinner.

"The party went on for hours. I dozed off, and when I woke up, it was quiet except for my father and someone else talking. I snuck out of the tent, just out of curiosity. The man my father was talking with was a Greekie named Stavros; we'd picked him up a few weeks earlier. He'd gradually taken over a lot of camp-management duties as the campaign had gotten too fast and brutal for the camp women to keep up. He was a young guy, probably eighteen or so, and he worshiped the ground my father walked on. Blond, strong, cheerful... and desperate to be a soldier even though he'd had no experience at all. 

"So I was hiding in the shadows when I heard Stavros say something to my father about how his ancient forefathers on old Earth had believed that the boy who drank the semen of a warrior would become a better warrior himself. I was sure my father would belt him, but all he did was chuckle, and say, 'Stavvie, a man has his needs.' In the exact tone of voice he used tonight!"

Ges reacted with shock. "You mean this Stavros fellow..." He couldn't even say it. "With your _father?"_

"Yes."

"The hypocrite!"

"Ges, I don't necessarily agree. Weird things happen when you're in battle. You go out killing, and you get these urges and you just forget your morals." 

Ges remembered how he and Aral always ended up in bed after even the pretend battles of the Service Academy. "I guess so."

"During the civil war, I was too young anyway to really understand. It took one of those patrols I was on, when I was on space duty... It was the one that got me my promotion, in fact. Things got pretty crazy, we thought we had Cetas all around us. And everyone got stirred up. You could almost smell the testosterone in the air, and, well, the COs definitely looked the other way, afterwards."

"OK." Ges decided that he really didn't want to know just what Aral had done, 'afterwards.' Though Ges had remained faithful to Aral, even during those long months of Aral's marriage, he'd never asked Aral to have no other man. And if his statement about war and horniness was true -- not that Ges had any real experience to verify it -- he supposed that Aral should be allowed his indiscretions.

"So my father's no hypocrite, as far as I'm concerned," Aral continued. "Now I doubt he was inclined to indulge himself often; he doesn't spare himself any discipline he inflicts on his soldiers. And it was barely two years after my mother's death, and he was still -- is still -- shattered by that. Hm. Did you ever notice how he didn't ever say anything to you and me when we were staying with him while we were in school?"

"Would he have even known?" Ges asked with disbelief.

"If your father knew, mine surely did. Remember, he's rigid in his morals, but his eyes are wide open. During the war, when we had camp women around, he never went to them but you can be sure he kept track of who did. Not to judge, just to know his men better."

"That makes sense. So what ever happened to Stavros?"

"Oh, I think there might have been some truth to his old-country customs. Hm." Aral chuckled. "My father and Stavros must have had more encounters than just the one, because after that night Stavvie very quickly became one of the most skilled fighters we had. He was killed in the battle on the way to get Yuri -- but he took half a dozen of Yuri's men down with him. I'll never forget it."

"Hm. You sound a bit ... in awe of this fellow."

"More than that." Ges could tell that Aral was embarrassed as he went on. "I, well, I was just starting to have... impulses then. I wasn't a little kid anymore; I was thirteen, and never sure from one day to the next if I'd survive. I wanted, no, I needed to find out some things before I died. Your father says I love soldiers, and he's right. Stavros came up from nothing to be such a great soldier, so quickly."

"Aha! So you had a crush on him!"

"Yes. And I knew... from what I'd seen that he wouldn't be offended. He liked showing me how to do things, he treated me like something other than the commander's tagalong kid. So one night when I was feeling brave, I found him when he was off with the horses, and just put my arms around him. Of course he was taller than me, he bent his head down and sort of nuzzled my hair, and asked me if I'd like to kiss him. We never did anything else but hug and kiss, I think he was self-conscious about how young I was, and I bet he was just as scared of my father finding out as I was... It wasn't more than a week from that night until he died."

"You never told me about him." Ges was careful to make this not sound accusatory. He found himself fascinated with this bit of personal history, and felt his earlier annoyance with Aral slipping away as he felt he might understand more about Yuri's War, and the role it had played in both Aral's and Piotr's lives.

"No... I wanted to, but I never could figure out how, without also telling about what he did with my father. The story's all of a piece; you would have known I was holding something back from you. But now... well, you asked. But just don't bring it up to Father, please."

\------------------------------------------

A few days later, much too early in the morning, ImpSec came calling to Vorrutyer House. The knock at the bedroom door woke Ges immediately, but Aral, thankfully, just turned over, mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like "love you, I sleep."

Through the closed door, Armsman Ruben spoke. "ImpSec's here. They need you at the Residence." 

Ges got into his undress greens -- the most presentable uniform he had on hand, after several nights in a row of drunken carousing "in honor of," Aral had said with an ironic salaam, "my demotion" -- and pulled on his boots.

Ruben was still waiting when Ges emerged from the room. He looked very worried, and there was a pause as if he wasn't quite sure whether he had any right to inquire further, before asking, "How is Lord Vorkosigan getting on?"

Ruben had always felt comfortable to Ges. He'd served Vorrutyer House for close to twenty years, and was a veteran of the Cetagandan wars like most of the Vorrutyer Armsmen, but for all that, he was kind and trustworthy, and never inclined to rest on his military laurels. So Ges felt he could share a bit more than he would with almost anyone else. "Well, he's sleeping right now. Slept all night, no waking up screaming for a change." _No screaming for his mother, or his brother. Or me. But never for his father, or his wife._

"I've heard him. It's disturbing to see such an honorable young man so reduced. Do you think he'll pull out of it soon?"

"I really can't say. But... he's not used to waking up alone. It would be a great favor if you could just stay outside my room, so if he gets ... upset ... he'll have help." 

Ges was a little surprised that Ruben had labeled Aral 'honorable' given that, living in Vorrutyer House, the man had been witness to the entire arc of tragic events, from Aral's engagement and marriage to the current shambles. But perhaps Ruben was one of those few who didn't automatically connect private conduct with public persona. Ges wondered whether, if he needed someone to talk with in the middle of the night, Ruben would be helpful. He was starting to miss Lis and her understanding insights.

The ImpSec sergeant and his assistant transported Ges to the Imperial Residence in tight-lipped non-communication. Ges figured that they couldn't tell him why he'd been summoned, if they even knew. But when they escorted him into Emperor Ezar Vorbarra's personal office, he couldn't ignore the alarm bells going off in his head anymore. 

What Ges was most worried about was that on account of his and Aral's behavior in public, ImpSec would take Aral away from him. It was no surprise to Ges that the gossips were already eating up the reports of Lord Aral Vorkosigan, Count's heir, drinking his way through Vorbarr Sultana with his "boyfriend" in tow. And Aral's usual half-embarrassed reserve had vanished; he'd been all over Ges in public, pulling him into blatantly erotic embraces, and using his re-issued Service stunner to threaten anyone who commented.

Ezar Vorbarra entered the room along with Captain Negri, the head of ImpSec. Ges nearly had to force himself to bow properly rather than shrink away as the Emperor eyed him speculatively.

"So, boy. Do you know why you're here?" Ezar was in his fifties, now, but seemed ageless.

"N... no, Sire," Ges surprised himself by stuttering before the ultimate Barrayaran power. He'd met Ezar before, and as part of the High Vor he should have had no trouble behaving properly in the Emperor's presence. _But this is not a simple matter of protocol, a presentation of a loyal young subject to his ruler. This man wants something from me._

"Oh, come on!" Ezar was annoyed, though Ges knew it was over something more substantive than his failure at Imperial etiquette. "You've been trailing Aral Vorkosigan, when he hasn't been assaulting you in public. Taking him home every night. Why?"

"We... share in our grief for my sister. And he's taken it much harder than I could have expected." 

"There's no need to be evasive, Vorrutyer," Captain Negri put in. "We have known about your... liaison for a very long time now."

"I recall," Ezar said, "a fight at the Imperial Service Academy a few years back, in which young Jeroen Vorkalloner was injured after saying something unwise. And I recall that when it came to my attention, Captain Negri here fixed the problem."

"And I recall," Negri said with perfect coldness, "a marriage that seemed far too conveniently arranged." Ges wasn't sure now if he was more afraid of Negri or Negri's master. And he suspected that both Negri and Ezar knew that Aral had killed Vortorren and Vorwyn.

Ezar continued, "We have an assignment for you. Aral Vorkosigan, before these unfortunate events, was showing signs of military genius. Beyond the abilities of anyone Barrayar has seen for generations, including his father. He's inexperienced yet, but he learns quickly, and has a way of compelling men to follow him into impossible situations, and come out with unimagined results. In short, he's very valuable to us. And we'd like you to... watch over him, until he's recovered and ready for duty again."

 _Suspected? No, sure._ The Emperor knew how to use his men, and Aral was obviously valuable enough that his actions in the private sphere -- up to and including murder -- could be overlooked. Ges said, "I could... I could do that, Sire. Except... Olrent in Ops will want me back, sometime." But then Ges realized that Olrent, if not an ImpSec operative himself, had essentially given him the same task; Ges's brief daily calls to him usually covered nothing except Aral's condition.

"Olrent can wait," Negri said dismissively. "Keeping the military -- whether an entire branch of the Service or a single man -- functioning is a classic Ops assignment, in any case, and you can continue reporting to him. It is better that your reports be passed through a second party to ImpSec; for us, taking too obvious an interest in the Vorkosigan family brings unwanted attention."

"But our behavior has been disreputable," Ges said. "It's the sort of thing that gets a man cashiered, usually." He was starting to wonder why in the world he was arguing with these men.

"You have nothing to worry about," Ezar said. "Whatever sins Aral Vorkosigan leads you into will be forgiven. In fact, if you do your job well, this assignment will push forward your military career, which seems to be stalled in Ops. Ship duty straightaway, and the interplanetary political situation is such that if you act wisely, you'll rise through the ranks as fast as any man could. It is not an easy thing we're asking you to do, and we want you to be suitably rewarded."

Negri smiled. And Ges decided that a smile on Negri's face was more frightening than a frown on just about anyone else's. "I would have thought," Negri said, in a way that could have been either mocking or sympathetic, or both, "that being assigned to spend all your time with the man you love would not be something you'd argue against."

"It isn't. I just wanted to be sure of the consequences, is all."

"So you agree?" Ezar asked.

"How much choice do I have? I mean, I have my own reasons for wanting Aral alive..."

"Your reticence is unnecessary. I repeat, this arrangement will prove valuable to you."

"Even if I fail?"

"We don't think you'd let that happen." Ezar's calculating words made Ges shiver.

As Ges was being escorted out of the Residence, he remembered a long-ago conversation with Aral, who had been speaking of larger political assignments, but what he'd said certainly applied here. _"If the Emperor asks you to do him a favor, there is always a price you won't know._ "


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _He thought it wouldn't be difficult at all for him to be faithful to Aral, once Piotr's moral crusade blew over. Aral was easy to admire, publicly, a precocious Commander at age 25, and, as Emperor Ezar had predicted, an active, respected military genius. And privately... Ges loved the Aral he knew intimately even more. Even though they could be separated for months at a time, every reunion was also a reunification. They moved together, thought together, like Ges had heard old married couples do._
> 
> Content: Several years later. The end of things. 
> 
> Warnings: violence, language, deaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is actually the last chapter of the story arc I originally planned, and it could be considered finished with this.
> 
> But, I had a little more inspiration at the time, so there are three more pieces coming, which will be labeled Letter Never Sent (chapter 11), Epilogue (chapter 12), and Coda (chapter 13).

Ges held a cup so his father could spit blood and mucus into it. The coughing fits were getting steadlily worse; the doctors had said the old Count had at the most two weeks to live, and he seemed to have made peace with it. But getting him to go to the hospital at ImpMil, according to Ges's older brother, now the acting Count, had been a chore. Count Vorrutyer had wanted to die at home in the District, but the technology required to keep him comfortable could not be accomodated in the old castle, which lacked a furnace, running hot water, and electricity.

"So Father, I am going to be a little scarce for the next few days," Ges said. "Always reachable, of course, and the nurses know how to find me if you should... take a turn for the worse."

"Eh, Ges, I seem to be on a slow downhill course here, no cliffs for me to fall over. It's a pity; I'm not afraid of death, but this dying business is getting to me." He coughed again, and Ges held out the cup. More blood this time, less mucus. "So, Aral's going to be in town?"

"Father, how do you always know?"

"A certain look you get in your eyes." Count Vorrutyer smiled, which made Ges blush. Then he shifted slightly and moaned lowly. "Ah, boy, time for another bolus of that painkiller, I think." Ges dialed up the appropriate device and watched his father take deep, hard breaths until the medicine took effect.

The medicine slowed his father's speech, but not his mind. "So how are things between you two?"

"Um, OK, I guess." Ges looked away, in hopes that his father wouldn't pick up on how unsure he was.

"I just worry that Piotr's morals crusade might be drawing him in."

"I think... I think he's fighting it. His father still holds so much over him...."

"It surprised me when Piotr just let Aral... run wild with you, after your sister died. Even when you two got arrested, ImpSec just stepped in and took care of it, and Piotr didn't say boo. When I asked him about it, he changed the subject. I suppose that since then, he's discovered that whatever disease his son has, it's not temporary."

Ges pondered this. Maybe a dying man could be trusted to keep a confidence... "Father, ImpSec had an assignment for me. Keep him alive. I would have done it anyway, but..."

"Really." Count Vorrutyer quirked an eyebrow at him. "And let me see, in the three years since then, you've done quite well for yourself. Space duty, two promotions, hm." He coughed again, but just lightly, and didn't bring up any blood for a change. "A quid pro quo, eh?"

"From on high, Father. From the mouth of Ezar Vorbarra himself. Backed up by Captain Negri. I was _terrified._ And... I shouldn't say this but..." Ges remembered the interview in Piotr's study, Aral battered, Piotr frosty and cunning. "The greatest threat to Aral at that time was Piotr himself."

"So you think Aral's sudden, ah, public puritan streak is an attempt to appease his father?"

"I think only that. I hope only that. I don't especially like being his dirty not-quite-secret, but I don't think I ever want to be as much of a topic of gossip as I was then. I don't interfere with his reputation, and in turn he gives me, privately, a great deal of joy."

Ges's father smiled at him, and replied, "Well, keep that balance then, as long as you can. And... I feel a need to tell you that I never expected you to get married and have a family. Your brothers will do that well enough, so long as you are satisfied with your own choices. I suppose... that's part of Aral's problem; he's his father's only surviving child, so he must satisfy all his father's paternal ambitions."

At that point a nurse stuck her head in the door and glanced at the bedside monitors. "Lord Vorrutyer," she said to Ges, "perhaps it's time to let your father rest."

"Ah. It seems my keepers want to keep me a bit more," the old Count said lightly. "But, Ges... please, again, if you can, get Prince Xav in here while I'm still lucid enough to give him my last farewell. Not that I haven't already, but this time.... boy, it's for real this time."

"I'll try, but security..." Ges tried to make Prince Xav's reticence seem externally imposed. It wasn't really truthful of him, but how would his father react if he knew that Xav just would not cave in to pressure? Ges and his brothers had all tried to convince Prince Xav to visit, but he resisted their messages. He'd been refusing personal visitors, so that avenue was closed to them as well.

"Feh on Security. If they can't keep an old man safe in their very own hospital, they're not much security at all. Be safe."

Ges leaned over and brushed his lips across the top of his father's head. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

\--------------------------------------

Ges decided to head out for Lis's, because it would be late the next day before Aral was back on Barrayar. The club occasionally yielded up some nice man for Ges, and he found this relaxed him. He never asked, but he assumed that Aral had his own set of "nice men." There still was no vow of faithfulness between them, though Ges wondered if that was just because there was no way to publicly declare their relationship. 

He thought it wouldn't be difficult at all for him to be faithful to Aral. Aral was easy to admire, publicly, a precocious Commander in his mid-twenties, and, as Emperor Ezar had predicted, an active, respected military genius. And privately... Ges loved the Aral he knew intimately even more. Even though they could be separated for months at a time, every reunion was also a reunification. They moved together, thought together, like Ges had heard old married couples do. He even thought he would give up women, if Aral only asked it of him. 

That enterprise was taking an awful lot of money, and wasn't yielding much. Working one's way into the more exclusive and exotic brothels of Vorbarr Sultana was expensive enough to make him nearly broke, even with his two promotions. His own situation was especially problematic, because, well, everyday sex with an everyday whore had proved impossible for him. He'd tired of jaded women laughing at his impotence. What he required didn't come, so to speak, cheaply. He couldn't blame the proprietors for the cost; they had a lot more secrets to keep, more protectors to pay off, and fewer customers. His last adventure had cost him nearly two months' pay, by the time he reimbursed the cost of the broken equipment and paid his partner's medical bills, and had ended with a disinvitation from the madam. What he really wanted -- the old fantasy of a man and a woman at his mercy, the man carrying out a whole sequence of creative degradations on the woman under Ges's direction -- well, he was starting to think he should save his marks for a trip to Beta Colony.

So he headed for Lis's tavern, because men were so much easier. No cost, no expensive equipment, no hurt, no little bit more that might cross some unknown boundary. Just simple sex, no effort at all. And he tried not to think about Aral's growing edginess, or the times Aral had turned away from him saying he couldn't do it, just like when he'd been married. Ges had always been able to get him to change his mind, but there were more subtle difficulties every time.

As Ges started to bring the lightflyer down, he could see that Lis's was busy. In his current mood, this just made him worry that as the customers grew more numerous, someone would find out.

When he was still about one hundred meters up, the building exploded in a ball of fire that shot up and threw Ges's lightflyer sideways with a hot blast. Ges cursed as he nearly lost the controls, but eventually circled back in, paying close attention to the flyer's heat sensors in order to keep far enough away from the raging blaze. As he landed, he could only think _Damn Piotr Vorkosigan!_

He opened up the lightflyer and stepped over the door, and glanced around the parking lot, and he counted up and identified the parked lightflyers. _Vorkaros. Vorsmythe. Rogers. Karolski..._ And then he got to _Olrent_ , and thought _Lis_ , and almost automatically _my sister_ , and he sank into the snow and huddled into his greatcoat, in horror and heartbreak.

Ges couldn't track the minutes well enough to know how much time had passed when he finally raised his head. He observed the situation as if he was a distant spectator. The fire was still burning, though not as hotly. There were no signs that anyone had even had time to try to escape the building, and Ges was relieved, he guessed, to know that the deaths had come quickly. He supposed that he ought to contact the authorities, but which ones? He thought of trying to contact Vormuir's local security, but they might not even have known that the place existed. ImpSec? They would be in charge of the inevitable, massive cover-up, just out of respect for the families of the dead, but he still felt reluctant to go to them. _Prince Xav can do something..._ He'd have to go through ImpSec to get to the Prince, but maybe....

He stood, and brushed off the snow, and was just taking the first step towards his lightflyer when a piece of flaming debris hit it. He ducked and rolled, felt the explosion, and then something hot hit the back of his head. He got up and stumbled through the snow, as the conflagration spread from one flyer to the next, explosions wrenching the air with each one. When he'd gone perhaps ten meters, he realized that his hair was on fire, and he plunged into a snowbank to put it out, before going on.

Lis's cabin was unlocked, and he burst inside, to find that it looked nearly untouched since the night he'd spent here with Aral, three years before. Dishes in the sink, worn carpets on the floor, flimsies and booktapes stacked on the table, lived-in furniture... _Cold comfort now, Lis..._ There was a cheap voice-only comconsole in the corner, and he punched in the code for ImpSec.

A voice crackled. "ImpSec Vorbarr Sultana. Name and location?" 

"Ges Vorrutyer. Count Vorrutyer's son. I'm in Vormuir's District, there's been an explosion, people are dead..." His voice was rising into hysteria.

"You have not contacted the local authorities?"

"It's... I can't explain. I need to speak to Prince Xav Vorbarra."

"You're crazy! The Prince doesn't intervene in the fucking affairs of some fucking sodomite."

Ges could have let the insult sting, but instead he argued back, "No, please, he'll know how to handle it, he knows me...."

The line went dead, and Ges swore as he lifted a fist to punch the com. But he stopped his downward swing mere inches from its face. _Wait. I'm here alone, it will look terrible if Vormuir's guards find me here, I can't cut myself off, it's so cold..._ He paced the room, stopping only to make a small fire in the fireplace. _For it is so cold..._

A few minutes later the com beeped, and Prince Xav's voice came through. "Ges, are you there? ImpSec traced your call to Lis's cabin, what the hell is going on, boy?" 

"Lis is dead, they're all dead, it's all burning, it's so cold, someone knows, Xav, someone found out, damn them, it's so cold, _I'm so cold..._ " Ges gulped in and collapsed onto the floor, and this time he sobbed.

 

It had been a long night... ImpSec had retrieved him, and taken him for questioning, which became mercifully brief once they realized that he had not set the fire. Afterwards, the Prince's men had gotten Ges settled into a bed at Xav's small castle on the outskirts of Vorbarr Sultana, where he slept fitfully until mid-day. Now, in the dying light of the late afternoon, he huddled in a chair in the Prince's warm sitting room, though he still felt chilled and shivered occasionally. Shock, the ImpSec medic had told him.

He heard shuffling in the hallway, and then the Prince came in, leaning heavily on a cane. Ges stood and composed his face as best he could to not betray his sinking surprise at the Prince's demeanor. The man had aged seemingly twenty years since the last time Ges had seen him, when he and Aral had been invited for dinner two years previously. Of course Aral's grandmother's death must have hit him terribly hard, but was that enough to account for the trembling, nearly skeletal figure that stood before him now?

"ImpSec just called." The Prince sat, almost apologetically, on a couch near Ges, and motioned for Ges to sit next to him. "The current theory was that it was suicide-arson, not over a romance gone bad, but from some infiltrators willing to give up their lives to cut out the impurity. Fools." The Prince's voice had been faded and shaky until that last indicting word.

 _"Cut out the impurity"_ was a direct quote from one of Count Piotr's recent speeches. Ges asked, "Can it be traced to _him?"_

"I doubt it. And whatever the Emperor's true feelings, he feels compelled to give the Great General a pass... a lifetime one, it seems. Whatever investigation there is will curiously run dry before it lands near Vorkosigan House."

"Why?"

Xav sighed. "He saved us from Yuri. And I knew Yuri's plans in all their unimaginable horror, I knew the outline when the war began, and Yuri's full road map, afterwards... I cannot describe how evil it was. So I will not argue with Ezar over this. You and all your family were on Yuri's deathlist, you know. Vorrutyers had married into the Vorbarra family too many times; there were cousins all over who might have tried to claim the throne..."

Ges let the spark of revenge within himself go out, and felt momentary shame over the fact that his father had moved, with his entire family, to the South Continent for their safety during the civil war -- unlike the Vorkosigans and the sane Vorbarras, who stayed right in the thick of it, killing their own relatives for the sake of the Imperium. So Piotr's leadership might have saved him, but now... Ges found the current situation intolerable, and not just because of the threat that it would take Aral away from him. "About Piotr. Is all this... fuss he's raising just a way to get Aral back?" he asked.

"I don't think so, although certainly he hopes for it. There are things... happening, among the Vor, that offend him deeply. Like finding out that a couple of Counts has sent their rebellious daughters to Komarr for contraceptive implants, rather than locking them in the attic."

"I hadn't heard about that!"

"Well, we're operating in a strange system here. Since the Time of Isolation ended, there are so many new things that cannot be talked about, yet the changes are slipping in even at the highest levels of society. In fact, that's giving Piotr's campaign an unearned advantage. To even discuss it would be considered unseemly in most High Vor circles, and to come out against him means making oneself look like a direct supporter of imported vices. The Emperor, in fact, has requested and required that I not publicly oppose Piotr. The political situation right now is so touchy that anything that would point out my connections to Beta would empower the isolationists, perhaps explosively."

Ges reflected on the Prince's words, but more importantly the resigned tone behind them. Xav remained angry, but maybe he was giving up on his quiet, slow campaign of liberalization. Maybe he'd realized that he would die before he could get it to a viable point, and there was no one to pass it on to. Or maybe, having lived through one civil war, he had no desire to see another. And with no open opposition, Piotr would have more ability to re-capture his son's loyalty. The Prince, for all that he loved and supported them, could only be a weak ally to Ges and Aral now.

But he wondered, still, if there was any way to change Prince Xav's mind. Ges mulled over everything he knew about the man, about Aral, Piotr, the civil war... _Oh. Xav hates hypocrisy._

"Xav," Ges asked, "Aral told me a little, a long time ago, about a young man named Stavros..."

The Prince interrupted this with a bemused smile, and said, "Ah, Stavvie..."

"You knew him?"

"I only met him briefly, though the circumstances were... hm. Relevant, I think..."

 _He knows about Piotr and Stavros?_ Ges was hopeful.

"When I met him -- briefly as I said -- it was when I caught him and Aral with their hands down each other's pants."

 _No. Aral and Stavros._ "What! Aral told me he had a crush on Stavvie, but they didn't do much before he was killed." 

"I would judge that to be true," Xav said, still amused. "I suspect that when I caught them in such a compromised position, they were on their way to somewhere, but only for the first time."

"What did you do?"

"Scolded them a little -- not for liking each other but for taking such a risk the night before the biggest battle of the civil war. Told them we couldn't afford to have Piotr distracted. And promised them a better chance and setting when it was all over. Here, in fact. I knew Aral would be staying with us when -- if -- Ezar was setting up his new government. And Stavvie needed a place to stay, and someone to help him get more schooling."

Ges boggled a little at the Prince's remarkable liberality. "Didn't the age difference... bother you?"

"Let me answer that with a question. How old was Aral when you met him?"

"Fourteen. We were in day school together, before the Imperial Service Academy."

"And -- given what he had been through in the civil war -- was he a boy or a man?"

"I think I see your point."

"Yes. Aral was really only... boyish in the way he took the loss of Stavvie. He held it in only until Yuri was dead, and then... Oh, there were hours upon hours of sobbing and raging. Weeks upon weeks of grief. For all the deaths, not just Stavvie's. And can we really blame him?"

Ges chewed this over in his mind. Aral _clung,_ there was no question of it. But he saw this as a weakness, and perhaps Piotr's way just tempted him as a more socially acceptable sort of clinginess. The question would be how to convince Aral that he was better off clinging to a person -- a wrong person -- than to a rigid set of ideals. He also noted that Xav had said nothing to indicate that he knew anything about what Stavros had done with Piotr. But asking seemed too much like betraying a confidence, so Ges let it be.

He brought himself back to the immediate situation. Ges checked his chrono, and said, "Your High... Xav, it's nearly time for me to go get Aral from the shuttleport. One of your Armsmen said I could borrow a lightflyer." The Prince nodded his assent. "And there's one other thing... My father. He keeps asking for you. Could you please consider going to him, just for the sake of letting him hear about Lis and the fire from someone he trusts?"

Xav looked away for a moment before speaking. "I've been avoiding him, and I'm not proud of that." His voice cracked with grief. "Death has grown too personal for me to watch, these days. I can feel it nearby, and I am prepared to embrace it... only when it comes for me." The Prince sighed deeply, and seemed to recompose himself. "But you are right; I should put aside my own selfish and futile wish for protection against death, and go to him. Tonight."

\-------------------------------------------

At the gate of the military shuttleport, Ges waited for Aral and ran a hand, as he often did, over the charm hanging by a cord around his neck beneath his tunic. When Aral had come out of that horrible time after his wife's death, and was ready to return to duty, he and Ges had exchanged their own version of a popular glass locket mothers filled with their own tears and gave to their soldierly sons for good luck. Ges and Aral had joked obscenely about what theirs should be called; "Mother's Tears" was definitely not what they'd put into them.

When Aral arrived, there was something tense in his stance, and Ges thought, _wait until I tell him about Lis._ Aral raised an eyebrow at the discreet Vorbarra crest on the lightflyer. Once they were airborne he turned to Ges and took in a sharp breath. "What happened?" he asked, surveying the bandage on Ges's head, his still-bloodied uniform that reeked of the fire, and undoubtedly Ges's emotional turmoil. 

"Only when we get settled in... Aral, you are not going to believe it. And yes, your grandfather loaned me this flyer; mine is wrecked."

Ges was glad they had the use of Vorkosigan House, with Count Piotr down at Vorkosigan Surleau. The Vorkosigan Armsmen were, of course, well aware of who and what Ges was to Aral, but for some reason Count Piotr hadn't given them any instructions to bar Ges from the house. In contrast, Ges's oldest brother Bayard had moved into Vorrutyer House permanently, in preparation for their father's death, and brought his wife with him. And he'd made it very clear to Ges that no immorality would be tolerated, that while he felt forced by their father to look away from Ges's disgrace, his wife could not be asked to do the same. Ges had spent almost no time there during his past two leaves in Vorbarr Sultana.

After they arrived, Aral poured them each a glass of brandy; when his hand brushed against Ges's, he flinched and gave Ges a momentary anguished look before turning away. As they sat facing each other, there was no hint of the expected anticipation in him . "So," Ges asked Aral, "do you want the short version or the long version?"

"Short, I think."

Ges sipped at the brandy, and thought of that one time, when he'd sipped brandy while controlling and watching Aral, when Aral had been _his._ This distant, wary Aral did not seem to be the same person. "Well, then. Lis is dead. Her place got hit by arson last night, and Olrent is dead, as well as forty other men. And if I'd pushed my lightflyer just a little more, I would have been dead, too. I was coming in to land when the fire went up. Aral, someone found out!"

Aral just shrugged, and asked, "Why are you surprised by this?"

"Dammit, Aral, that's not the issue. Lis is dead. Forty-one men are dead with her, and I was nearly the forty-second!"

Aral stood and walked over to the window. Ges felt haunted by Piotr as he watched Aral stare out; it almost seemed more like Piotr standing there, not Aral. He realized that except for that brief, accidental hand-brushing, they had not touched at all this evening. Normally they would have embraced, and more than once, upon meeting, and Aral would have rested his hand on Ges's leg in the lightflyer, and Ges would have made jokes about not distracting the pilot while pushing Aral's hand away as it inevitably crept up his leg, and most likely they would have left a trail of clothing on their way to the bed in the next room, if they'd even managed to make it that far. _But this night is not like other nights... and this Aral is not like my Aral..._

Finally he got up. As he approached Aral, he put a hand on Aral's shoulder, and Aral pulled away... as if he'd been burned, and his eyes glittered as he said in a flat voice, "It's just as well, you know. The corruption had to stop."

Ges was stunned. "You believe that? Your father has that much influence?"

"It doesn't matter if he does or doesn't. He speaks truth."

Ges reached out again, and in an instant Aral had his arms in a lock. They grappled, each trying not to get thrown. After what seemed like an eternity, Ges wriggled free and stepped back, and found that Aral had the jeweled knife pointed right at his chest. The jewels were casting shifting reflections of color onto Aral, and onto the floor, and Ges had to pull his eyes away from the distraction. Ges struggled to get the words out as he panted. "Aral, what the hell is it with that knife?"

Aral smiled maliciously, but his voice was flat. "It was my grandmother Vorkosigan's. She used it to cut the throats of her mutant children." 

"Your father put you up to this, didn't he?"

"No. But you are my temptation and my vice, and my father would approve."

Ges remembered when Aral had used those words on him, and wondered what had happened to the rest. _My temptation, my vice, my heart, my love._ "Aral, _don't._ "

"Watch me," Aral said flatly.

Ges jumped just as Aral thrust the knife towards him, and somehow got his hands around Aral's wrists. As they struggled, he felt the knife graze his neck. Ges was dimly aware that Aral was a much better fighter, even without a weapon. And unlike every previous fight they'd had, Aral hadn't lost his temper first; this time he was nearly serene and certainly planful as he blocked Ges's advances. Ges needed a better strategy, something emotional, not rational, not physical. 

"Aral," Ges said, his voice oddly yearning. Aral paused for the shortest moment, and looked directly at Ges. There was agony in his eyes... but Ges couldn't trust it. The pause was long enough for Ges to get a grip on Aral's knifehand and push as hard as he could. The knife, still held by both of them, thrust upward and ripped Aral's jawline along the left side. The blood welled up instantly, and its warmth flowed onto Ges's hands. He was able to get in one good shove, which sent Aral sprawling as the knife skittered across the floor. Ges grabbed it and ran.

He was out of Vorkosigan House, down the long drive, through the gate, as terrified as he'd ever been in his life. Then he slipped on a patch of ice and collapsed, gasping, against Vorkosigan House's outer garden wall. He pulled Aral's charm over his head and slammed it into the wall so its shards dug into his palm, just as a large, armored groundcar pulled up beside him. The canopy popped open.

"Ges? Ges... your father..." It was Prince Xav. "I knew you'd be at the house, so I came to tell you... It broke his heart, hearing about Lis. Ges, he's dead."

Ges felt blank. He just stared into Prince Xav's blue eyes and said nothing. Let the Prince see him, the blood oozing out of one hand, the knife he still gripped in the other. "Aral?" Prince Xav asked.

"It's over."

"Get in, boy," Prince Xav said as he made room for Ges in the groundcar.


	11. Letter Never Sent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A letter from Aral to Ges

_Dear Ges,_

_I'm going to have a scar, but better on my face, where there's less distance to ruined, than on yours. Know that every time I look in a mirror, I'll be reminded of how I let you down._

_Know that I did not "let" you cut me, and I did not "let" you get away. Know that when you said my name, that there, for that split second, I could do nothing but "let" you have me._

_Afterwards, I lay in the corner until the Armsman came. My face bled, and then my gut, and the carpet that was beneath my face is evidence enough for that. I would roll it up and send it to you, but you have my grandmother's dagger, and that's far more convenient a memento for a soldier's life._

_The excuses, since you may as well know them, are what you might expect. My father never came to me and demanded that I drop you, but his public statements were meant to goad me into bringing my private life into agreement with his desires. And my superior officers sat me down recently, five of them to one of me, to ask what my intentions were, with regard to you. Like my father, they made no demands, but they laid out some possible trajectories for my military career, with and without you._

_So finally I've done what you probably knew I'd do all along, all the way back to that time when we fought at the Emperor's celebration of our officers' commissioning. For family and career, for a definition of honor that is far too narrow, I have betrayed you._

_Neither my father nor the military care anymore that you kept me alive for them. They forget those months, but I never will._

_Aral_

_P.S. My grandfather sent word this morning about your father's death. I will miss the old Count as he was nearly a substitute father to me._

\---------------------------------

Aral took his father's lightflyer out to the countryside two days later, to see the carnage for himself. ImpSec had come and gone, and taken the bodies, and what remained were smoldering ruins amidst patches of mud on the ground where the fire had melted the snow completely away. He wandered until he found a piece of wood that was still hot, and drew from his pocket a small portable brazier, and lit his offering for all the dead and for the one he hoped was dead to him. 


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The Prince pushed Ges back against the wall and whispered to him, "So, I hear you like to watch. Come see how I do it." There was something menacingly confident in his tone and stance, much older than the nineteen year old boy he was._
> 
>  
> 
> Content: Ges is now 32, and he encounters Prince Serg, who chills him and then lights a fire in him, at a Residence party. 
> 
> Warnings: kink, language, borderline non-con, implied sex. IMHO, the ugliest part of the story.

Ges watched as his youngest brother Yves was presented to the assembled crowd. The Emperor's ball for the new Imperial Service Academy graduates had not changed much in the eleven years since he'd graduated. The eager young cadets, jittery with anticipation about their assignments (especially now that a space-based war seemed inevitable, whispers of "ship duty, ship duty" were on everyone's lips) and still growing into their new uniforms. Older officers, including Ges himself, less enthusiastic after however many years of duty, alternating between death-curdling boring and the sort of excitement one wasn't ever sure one enjoyed. A sprinkling of Counts and Vor Lords, usually family members of favored cadets. ImpSec guards in masquerade as Imperial servants. The Imperial Service Orchestra, perfectly tuned as always. And at the apex, Emperor Ezar Vorbarra, a bit greyer but still very much in command, and his inner circle, including Count Piotr Vorkosigan, who willfully looked right through Ges.

And young women. Many young women, including the cream of the Vor. Beautiful, self-conscious, more likely vapid -- or pretending to be so -- than intelligent or interesting. Nonetheless, Ges found his usual pleasure in watching them, catching the bits of sexual excitement they threw off, some probably not even realizing what they were doing. One of Count Vorsmythe's daughters, tall and blonde, wandered up to Yves, who was lean and handsome but without Ges's overt sensuality. She said something to him that made him blush, but also broke down his resistance to dancing. 

None of the girls approached Ges, not that he expected them to. The aftereffects of his adventures with Aral Vorkosigan appeared to be permanent; the older women, the duennas, no doubt whispered tales of his corruption in their charges' ears. People just assumed... and Ges had no interest in correcting them, because he would not get the partner he wanted out of any of these young, high-status frills. Acting out his rage and fantasies on a Vor maiden would be exquisitely satisfying... until her father and brothers came calling. Ges sought and found his occasional victims among the women who were statusless, brotherless, _alone._

The ball was ageless in its ceremonies, but he, Ges Vorrutyer, had changed.

Aral was not here this evening; he was, not surprisingly, out on one of the new battle cruisers. This was a relief to Ges. Their relations these days were best described as frosty. But there were moments... they'd catch each other staring, and perhaps Ges would allow himself the smallest gesture, a lowered head and a half-bow to remind them both of all those times he'd gone down on a knee before Aral, and what had followed. Aral would turn away, but not before Ges saw a little bit of his anguish. There were even times when, both of them relaxed by drink, Ges came very close to putting aside the fact that Aral had tried to kill him, and not just as an accessory to suicide, and dragging Aral home with him. There had been one time, just a year ago, that he'd found himself in a clinch with Aral, and as they looked into each other's eyes, Ges knew that all he would have to do was say Yes. But he couldn't. Aral had made his choice, and while Ges could forgive Aral for nearly killing him, and more than once, he could never forgive Aral for that choice. _We are still not come to the end of one another._

When protocol demanded it, they could even sit at the same table. But it was no surprise that the invisible hand of ImpSec kept them apart as much as possible. They were never assigned to the same ship, never put in a position where one might outrank the other in a chain of command (and who outranked whom seemed to change every few months, as Ges worked himself through a slow but steady pace of promotions, while Aral catapulted up the ranks, lost his temper and fell, and rose like the phoenix again and again.) It had taken years, but Ges finally saw himself as a valuable asset to the Barrayaran military, rather than a barely-suitable cadet. It brought him more satisfaction than he'd ever expected.

It was a warm, damp early summer night, and the ballroom quickly grew steamy, so Ges ambled out into the Residence gardens. He still watched, for nostalgia's sake if nothing else, and these parties could yield quite an eyeful. He wandered down the stairs and through the sunken garden, teeming with roses, and then sought his preferred spot, in a gazebo under a jacaranda tree nearly all the way to the wall at the far side of the gardens. Not the gazebo of his first separation from Aral; he'd avoided it since their final fight over six years earlier.

There was a little bench carved into the vine-surrounded wall. It was one of the few places in the Gardens that was not artificially lit, so Ges could hide there easily. As he sat, he saw that he would be lucky this evening. One of the new officers, not someone he recognized, had brought a granddaughter of Count Vorpinsky down for some solitude. The girl had a somewhat unladylike reputation, and no doubt was one of those High Vor daughters secreted off to Komarr for a contraceptive implant, Piotr Vorkosigan's moral screeds be damned; the Vorpinskis were practical sorts. One sleeve of her dress has slipped off her fine white shoulders, and Ges could almost hear her gasps as the officer ran kisses down her chest. 

Ges nearly jumped out of his skin when an authoritative hand dropped onto his shoulder. He half rose and turned, expecting an ImpSec agent or palace guard here to move him along, and was shocked to find the Crown Prince, Serg Vorbarra. The Prince pushed him back against the wall and whispered to him, "So, I hear you like to watch. Come see how I do it." There was something menacingly confident in his tone and stance, too old for the Prince's nineteen years. Ges weighed his options for a moment, and then stopped. For all intents and purposes, the Crown Prince's words were a command; only his father the Emperor could say no to him. And Ges couldn't deny that he was curious. 

They passed a Vorbarra Armsman on their way into the house, the same one, Ges saw, who had been driving Prince Xav's groundcar when they'd found the battered Ges outside Vorkosigan House's wall. The man recognized Ges, but said nothing as he stepped back to allow Ges and the Crown Prince to pass. Other servants were similarly silent, though Ges picked up an undercurrent of nervousness amongst the women.

Just as they were turning a corner in one of the dark hallways, a young maid crashed right into Ges. Her tray of fruit went flying, and landed with a clatter as she fell to her knees. When Ges reached down to help her up, he felt the Prince's hand restrain him once again. "No, Ges," Serg laughed. Then he addressed the maid. "Hands and knees, you clumsy bitch. Pick it all up. And stay down until I tell you to." The girl was trembling as she got down. She looked up at Serg once, with beseeching eyes. He shoved his boot, muddied from the garden, into her thigh, and said, "Go on."

Serg smiled as he watched, while Ges just felt shocked. Serg kept his hand on Ges's arm, gripping him uncomfortably hard. With each bruised and grimy piece of fruit she picked up, the girl had to hold it up to her chest as she scuffled back to the platter, and her awkwardness sometimes meant a view down her bodice that would have been enticing to Ges in other circumstances. His mind grasped at ways to distinguish what Serg was doing from his own scenes of domination, and realized that Serg's treatment of the maid seemed to have no point or goal besides cruelty. 

When the maid finished gathering up the fruit, she looked at Serg again, and Ges saw she was terrified. _What does this boy do to them?_ Serg prodded a half-squashed pear towards the girl with his toe. "Eat it. You've let this good fruit be wasted, you shouldn't toss it all to the slops. No hands. When you are done, you may request to rise. I may or may not allow it."

As they watched the girl struggle to eat the pear, Serg asked Ges, "So, what do you think?"

"What do you mean?"

"Of her. Would you like to fuck her?" The girl gave Ges an anguished glance.

Ges could feel the alarm rising in his gut. He knew -- hoped -- that the Prince didn't know about his problems with female partners, and if Serg wanted to watch them... He steeled himself into a lazy drawl, "No, let her go. You said you had something else to show me."

When the girl finished, she raised her face, and Ges imagined there was gratitude directed at him, behind the sticky smears of pear juice in her face and hair and the fright in her eyes. "Your Highness, may I have leave to rise?" she asked softly.

"Well..." The Prince paused, and weaved his hands in and out of each other, delaying. "Lord Vorrutyer here seems to want to let you off easy. But remember that the next time I catch you in an error, I won't have his moderating influence." He brushed his palms together in a dismissive gesture. "Be off, girl."

As she fled, Serg said, "I should have made her strip. She's got luscious breasts. Naked, I bet you would not have refused her."

"I guess... probably not," Ges replied. He was caught between terror at the Prince's harshness and thrill at the Prince's implied promises of power.

They came to a doorway, which Serg unlocked and then relocked after they stepped through. After a going down a short flight of stairs, they passed a series of rooms -- cells, Ges, realized, from the bars on the small hole cut in each doorway. All unoccupied, which for some reason was a relief to Ges, after that ... performance, with the maid. At the same time, he wasn't really sure he wanted to be alone with Serg. Even though the Prince was thirteen years younger, he'd taken charge of Ges -- and of that poor maid -- as if he'd been doing it all his life. Ges knew from his own experience that the Prince's father Emperor Ezar could be cruel, but only in service to the Imperium's needs. The Prince's cruelty was different.

At the end of the hall, Prince Serg bowed Ges into a large room. There were no lights, but none were needed, as banks of monitors flashed images from, Ges saw, locations all over the Residence Gardens and the Residence itself. 

"My personal viewing room. What do you think of it?" Serg asked proudly.

"This is .... impressive." Ges glance around at the monitors, many of which showed that the ball upstairs was reaching the pairing-off stage. He even found his little brother on one of them, necking in a corner with the girl who's asked him to dance. _Good for you, Yves,_ he thought. Then Ges zeroed in on the image of the gazebo they'd left, where Count Vorpinski's grandaughter was now half out of her dress, her head in her companion's lap. Serg reached for a control, and suddenly every monitor showed that same scene. Another control, and there was sound, which made it obvious exactly what the couple were doing. Ges felt overwhelmed as he watched.

Prince Serg was burbling boyishly about the genesis of the room, sounding his age again, though Ges found it difficult to pay attention. "Scrounged the monitors from ImpSec's castoffs..." For some reason, the images on the screens reminded Ges of his sister, and his heart twinged a little at her memory. "This room, no one's ever down here, it's been years since we've had our prisoners so conveniently located, what a pity..." The officer was gripping the woman's hair, pulling her in. "Had to break ImpSec's code to get the transmission signals for what I wanted, that wasn't easy..." The officer's breath was coming quickly now, as he shifted his weight. "Well, I guess that's what we pay them for..." Ges's arousal was overwhelming him. 

"Ges Vorrutyer!" Serg snapped, as he reached around and pulled Ges's hips back into his with one arm, while he wrapped the other around Ges's neck. Ges started to struggle, but an image of the maid from upstairs flashed through his mind. _Give him what he wants._ As his panic receded, he felt the Prince rubbing harder against him, and he bucked his hips back in anticipation. As the Prince started fondling him, the images on the monitors, the moaning officer, barely got a sliver of his attention. Ges had an inkling of what Ezar's price would be, as the Prince leaned in and kissed the back of his neck before breathing into Ges's ear, "So I hear back when you were seeing that pigfucker Aral Vorkosigan, you used to enjoy taking it..."


	13. Coda: Aral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Instead he'd turned away, violently -- he fingered the scar on his face, the spot still numb from the damage he took in that awful, final fight they'd had -- and had then filled himself with hate to crowd out his grief. Hate and ambition. Ambition to prove that while he'd disgraced himself with Ges, he'd never forgotten his honor._
> 
>  
> 
> Content: Many years later, Aral looks back -- and forward -- in anguish.

He sat back in his chair and sighed. The glass of brandy on the side table went untouched; he wanted a clear head to think about this until he couldn't anymore, and then he'd drink until he passed out. Gut be damned; drinking was the only way to cope, knowing what he did. And once he was on board the _General Vorkraft_ , he'd have to stop drinking, to keep his lips tight against Ezar's plan.

He'd let himself be drawn in by Ezar, by threats alternating with flattery, and then by the Emperor's terrifying desperation. Maybe Ezar trusted him because of how bravely he'd served during Yuri's Civil War. Ezar had paid him back well enough, by giving him the opportunity to distinguish himself as the strongest military strategist in Barrayaran history, and by protecting him when he had, inevitably, lost his temper and made mistakes that had sent his military career into eclipse. 

He was unhappy that Ezar had attached a leash to him -- a young, attractive... no, stop that ... ImpSec Lieutenant with some added-value skills, but there had to be someone to hold him back if his temper flared. No mistakes permitted, this time. Ezar's words from the afternoon echoed in his mind. _"Lord Vorkosigan, if you succeed, I'll make you into an admiral, and all those who would take it away from you will be dead."_ The unspoken coda was that if he failed... he'd be made into nothingness.

He should have anticipated that carrying out the Emperor's plan would mean ensuring that Ges Vorrutyer would be as dead as the rest of them by the time it was over, whether lost in battle or by apologetic, mistaken suicide. _Vice-Admiral Ges Vorrutyer._ Even if the rank was deserved, and Ges had been certainly been unduly favored thanks to his ties to Prince Serg, it still ate at him that someone like Ges could outrank him -- and command him. The military -- with assistance from ImpSec, no doubt -- had kept them from ever serving on the same ship, until now, when Ezar required him to partner Ges in a final, deadly dance. He dreaded finding out what humiliation Ges would bring him as he choreographed Ezar's wishes.

It wasn't this Ges he'd miss. It was what he thought of as _his_ Ges, the Ges he'd known and loved long ago. He'd never mourned the boy Ges with the enchanting laugh and the curly hair and the enormous soulful dark eyes -- and the supple, lithe body that he'd had known in its entirety. Instead he'd turned away, violently -- he fingered the scar on his face, the spot still numb from the damage he took in that awful, final fight they'd had -- and had then filled himself with hate to crowd out his grief. Hate and ambition. Ambition to prove that while he'd disgraced himself with Ges, he'd never forgotten his honor. Maybe when this ... thing ... was done, when there were deaths upon deaths all counted as "successes" for the Imperium, that ambition would be well enough proven that he'd believe in it himself. 

He'd further miss the young Ges who had unwittingly given him Sergeant Konstantine Bothari at his back. Bothari the insane soldier; once, according to the Sergeant himself, Bothari the scared Caravanserai kid, given a boost into the Service by a young officer named Ges Vorrutyer. And now he and Ges passed Bothari back and forth like a talisman; Bothari would be in Ges's hands for this mission. _I must find a way to save him, as he has saved me._

He hated thinking about how broken Bothari would be, possibly not even salvageable. Bothari had enough of a rudimentary sense of honor that he would have refused Ges, if Ges hadn't enhanced the luckless Bothari's libido with his performance drugs and trained him to his will with his mood drugs. Even though a man as insane and frightening and ugly as Bothari would never have been accepted by a normal woman, making him into a rapist was heartless.

It was sickening that when Ges matched Bothari with a woman, it was only to turn her and the resulting fetus over to Prince Serg and his less than tender mercies. The worst thing of all was knowing that Ges himself impregnated some of Serg's victims. Ges fed his unborn children to Prince Serg, while he, who desperately wanted a family, still remembered Ges's father, Count Vorrutyer, pleading with him to never destroy another woman the way he'd destroyed the Count's daughter. The old Count had been dead for nearly twenty years, but he kept his promise by treating that plea as an unspoken vow. No marriage, no wife, no children. Not even whores -- female ones, at least. He lived an ascetic's life, pouring every ounce of his energy into Barrayar's military strength.

But now... he'd met his lady soldier, the one possibility Count Vorrutyer had allowed him. _Cordelia._ He imagined that those old allies, his grandfather Prince Xav and Count Vorrutyer, would have approved of her. But... her planet Beta would be an enemy; indeed, the new Betan weapons -- the ones that would clinch his mission's success -- were already on their way to Escobar. If she hadn't said yes to his marriage proposal before, how could she ever have him once this malignant war ran its course? The few occasions when they'd actually touched each other were burned into his memory, and had spawned a collection of delightfully ordinary sexual fantasies. The only certain thing he had of her was her Survey fatigues, tucked away in a drawer in his cabin aboard the _General Vorkraft._ When he focused well enough, he imagined he could still smell her on them.

Aral Vorkosigan picked up his glass and drank deeply.


End file.
